


However You Wish

by TheImperfectionista



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Break Up, Evil Lucius Malfoy, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Good Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hinny, Implied/Referenced Sex, Manipulative Pansy Parkinson, Minor Pansy Parkinson/Blaise Zabini, Much Ado About Dramione fest, References to Shakespeare, Sexual Tension, Smut, dramione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:15:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22450060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheImperfectionista/pseuds/TheImperfectionista
Summary: The best-selling romance novelist, Rose de Bois has a secret. She doesn't exist and Hermione Granger used the name to publish her dirty stories. It's most inconvenient when someone like Draco Malfoy would fall in love with the author. All the men and women are players in this frolic based on the Shakespeare comedy, As You Like It.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson/Blaise Zabini
Comments: 18
Kudos: 72
Collections: Much Ado about Dramione: A Shakespearean fest





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Harry Potter world, which is trademarked by J. K. Rowling and based on the play 'As You Like It' by William Shakespeare.
> 
> Many thanks to Art3misia for hosting such a lovely fest and Tridogmom for being a supportive beta.

Had the wind blown a little harder or if the sun’s beams were in a direct line, Draco would have missed the quaffle thrown at him, instead he just caught the large ball.

“I thought this was supposed to be a friendly game of catch!” he shouted at his friend Blaise as he manoeuvred a perfect corkscrew.

“You said it. Doesn’t mean I agree,” Blaise replied as he caught the quaffle quite comfortably. The two men had been playing in the field for a good hour or so, like they did almost every day. It’s not like Draco didn’t have other things he wanted to do. It was more the fact that he wasn’t allowed to do the things he wanted. 

He pulled a magnificent Horntail spin before landing perfectly by some cold beers set up by the house elves. Blaise followed behind, softly floating back to the ground with carefree ease. 

“There’s a party tonight. You should come,” Blaise invited. 

Taking a large pull from his bottle, Draco tasted the bitter aftertaste of beer and misery.

“I wish I could. But father’s orders are to stay out of the public eye,” he replied.

“He’s not doing you any favours,” Blaise said as he popped open his bottle with the handle of his broomstick. 

He didn’t have an overbearing father still telling him what to do Draco thought bitterly. As soon as that thought crossed his mind, he felt remorseful. It’s not his friend’s fault that his father wasn’t around.

“I’m frustrated with him. Father’s only dinner conversation is about the rebuilding of the Malfoy name, yet he keeps me at home.” 

Carrying their broomsticks in one hand and beers in the other, they strolled back towards the Manor. They passed through the elaborate rose garden, where the albino peacocks used to wander through. However, on this day, none of the rare birds were to be seen.

“Even our peacocks are being publically displayed at Hogwarts as we speak. While I’m here idling my life away,” Draco complained.

Blaise sighed at his friend’s slump. It seemed like the life of Draco Malfoy showed no signs of improving. As they drew closer to Malfoy Manor, an imposing figure stood at the stone steps towards the entrance. It was the unmistakable Lucius Malfoy, his posture stern, irate, and militant. Before they could be within earshot, Draco spoke to his friend.

“You go ahead inside, I’ll catch up with you in my wing.” 

Blaise strode past Lucius with a polite formal greeting and disappeared in the labyrinth of the Manor. With gritted teeth, Draco walked up to his father.

A few years ago, his father would have towered over him, a long shadow in his wake for Draco to hide behind. Nowadays they stood the same height and Draco no longer wanted to follow his father’s footsteps.

“What are you up to, son? Playing quidditch like a lazy schoolboy,” Lucius sneered at the old Nimbus 2001 which he bought.

“Nothing. As you have ordered father.” 

The head of the silver cane swiped hard against Draco’s cheek. He tried not to flinch. Tough love was how father showed he cared, he told himself.

“Don’t be cheeky with me. Go do something useful for once,” Lucius barked.

“That would contradict your previous wishes. ‘Lie low, don’t go outside the Manor and do nothing,’ you told me. I followed your orders to the word.” 

The son braced himself for the next blow but Lucius only gripped his cane, shaking with rage.

“You insolent boy! Get out of my sight.” Draco didn’t need to be told twice and headed for the door, but not before Lucius gave his purpose for finding him.

“And get cleaned up! You are to escort Miss Parkinson to Diagon Alley in an hour’s time,” Lucius shouted after him.

Storming into his wing, Draco was furious. Furious with his father, furious with his current situation, and hopeless over any form of escape. Haplessly throwing his broom on the floor, he downed the rest of his beer whilst pacing around his room and tearing off his Quidditch gear. 

Blaise looked on warily from his perch by the window. 

“You need a plan to get out,” Blaise suggested, which only made Draco chuckle at the obviousness.

“Like I didn’t know that. I’ll come up with something when I get home.”

“Are you being let out?” Blaise asked.

“Yes, with Parkinson of all people. I can’t stand her yapping away about nonsense.”

Blaise didn’t contribute to Draco’s vitriol for the girl.

“At least you can do some other stuff in Diagon Alley.” 

The blond was already in the shower and Blaise was left in the bedroom pondering Draco’s predicament, Mr Malfoy, and why Pansy Parkinson needed an escort in the middle of the day to Diagon Alley.

* * *

“Why do you look so sour? This is supposed to be fun,” Ginny asked as they walked down a busy Diagon Alley towards Flourish & Blotts.

“The only reason why lemons are sweeter is because you talked me into this silly signing in this even sillier disguise!” 

Hermione gestured to herself. No longer did her brown riotous curls crown her face, it fell in silky waves of golden blonde. Her face had also changed to one not her own, thanks to some polyjuice. Ginny forced her into a dress robe of dusky pink with so much drapery over her shoulders, Hermione almost tripped over some trailing chiffon on their way to the bookstore. 

“I’ve managed to get my publisher to sell not one, but three books without having to do any public appearances. I didn’t need to do this.” But Hermione’s protestations went unheard.

Flourish and Blotts was decorated in nauseating colours of pinks and lavender when they arrived. They weren’t opened for business yet but Hermione could see the shop window proudly displayed the bestselling Charms Sisters trilogy by Rose de Bois. Books that she wrote in her free time as a hobby. The covers shimmered like opals with a picture of a witch twirling around in the arms of a lean man who seemed to have forgotten to button his shirt.

“If you didn’t want to do this book signing, you shouldn’t have told me your little secret.” Walking through the entrance, Ginny seemed indifferent to Hermione’s hysterics.

“What! You spied on me for ages!” Throwing her arms in the air. Any passerby would have thought the author was flouncing like a diva at her poor suffering friend.

“Ms Rose de Bois!” the owner exclaimed as he rushed over. “Thank you so much for agreeing to do this. When your publisher said you wouldn't be doing any publicity for the new book, I was utterly devastated. But now that you’re here, we will fill Diagon Alley with lines today!” He shook her hand with such vigour, Hermione thought her arm may drop off.

“You’re too kind. It’s not like I’ve written a new book on the life of Harry Potter,” she joked.

“Oh if you manage to write an official biography of Mr Potter, it will be the day Gringotts need to expand your vault.” He chuckled to himself at his little joke as he led her through the store. 

“Now Ms de Bois, please take a seat at the table. Would you like any refreshment?”

“Water will do. Thank you.” Leaning into Ginny, she whispered. “You can’t leave me here!”

“I’m meeting Harry for lunch to discuss his new ghostwriter,” chuckled Ginny who admired the towers of Hermione’s published novels.

“We will open the door in 10 minutes. Do we have the right coloured ink for your autographs? My goodness, the queue has already started!” 

The shop owner went around the back of the shop in his over-excitement. Sighing into the chair next to the table heaving with her new books, Hermione knew she was in for a long day.

* * *

“Drakey poo, hurry up! I can see a line outside the shop already,” Pansy whined as she pulled at Draco’s reluctant hand and clattered down the cobbled streets in her heels.

Draco was aware that people stared at him as they went past. Describing the expressions on those strangers’ faces as friendly would be like saying a dragon was fluffy. Already he wanted to leave for somewhere quieter.

Ahead of him, Flourish andBotts indeed had a line which consisted of excited witches, young and old. They stretched down Diagon Alley and giggled and chattered in an unabashed manner.

“Oh honey, you’re such a gentleman waiting with me. It would be possibly dreary without you.” Pansy stroked his arm as they stood at the end of the line a few shops down.

“What is this about?” he asked curiously. Pansy never seemed the bookish sort to him.

“This is a rare exclusive book signing by Rose de Bois. She writes the most delightful and naughty stories!” Nauseated by Pansy’s giddiness, Draco contemplated all sorts of excuses to slip away.

“You must be thirsty. Shall I fetch you a cup of tea nearby?” Those beady eyes widened at him with utter delight.

“That’s so thoughtful of you, Drakey. Tea would be perfect.” A big kiss landed on his cheek and it took everything out of him to not wipe off Pansy’s lipstick immediately with disgust.

“I’ll be back.” 

Draco could hear Pansy’s shrilly declaration of how much she’ll miss him. Grateful to be alone and out, Draco took his sweet time meandering through Diagon Alley. He made a great show of making his decision at the cafe cashier. Then waited patiently for the single cup of tea. While he was there, he dawdled over the cakes. Indecisive over whether or not to purchase a slice of cake for Pansy. He wondered whether a slice of cake, which she’d claim was fattening her up, would make her more insufferably clingy. 

By the time he left the cakes alone and took the now lukewarm tea back to the bookstore, Pansy was no longer seen outside the store. He concluded she must have moved down the line and that would mean his duty of the day would be over soon.

Pushing past some older witches, he was sickened by the unusually high amount of pink in the store. 

“Good afternoon. Who do I address this book to?” A lovely soft voice said amidst the gaggle of women.

The crowd parted and Draco caught sight of Pansy with her short black hair and chic camel coloured robes. Then Pansy whipped around and spotted him. But it was too late, he had already seen the brown-eyed woman with the most brilliant smile. 

The world around him stood still, the crowd faded into the distance. Draco’s heart was in his mouth, his stomach twisted in a nauseous spin, his very flesh burned in spontaneous combustion. What was this overwhelming feeling? Had he caught Dragons Pox? The Pixian Flu? 

“Drakey Poo! Come over here!” Pansy waved him over and the beautiful woman at the table turned to him. Her smile dropped for a split second when their eyes connected and Draco felt he could lose himself in their depths. 

He was forcibly pulled by his arm towards the table, his escort clung to him tightly.

“Ms Rose de Bois was going to sign my book. Please make it out to Pansy.” Pansy had thrusted an open book which the lovely creature accepted with grace and warmth. Draco noted her neat handwriting and how much he wanted to touch her delicate skin.

“What are your books about Ms -? ” he asked.

“Rose,” she interrupted him as she slid the book back to his unfortunate companion.

“Pardon?” Were her books about gardening?

  
“No. Call me Rose.” 

The world shook under him at her casual offer. 

“I write romance. Would you also like me to autograph anything for you?” Those plump pink lips smirked at him in jest. He wasn’t going to object if she kept talking to him.

“Yes please.” Pulling a few random books from the pile next to him, he leant in to place them before her.

“Could you address them to Narcissa?” 

* * *

Hermione couldn’t believe the ridiculous situation which she was in. There stood Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson, asking for her autograph. What would they think if they knew it was _the Hermione Granger,_ who they had tormented and bullied? Under no circumstances was she going to pass up the opportunity to have some fun.

She read the cover of the first book and smiled as sweetly as she could at Malfoy.

“A Squib’s Seduction?” Now this was gold. “Would that not be contrary to your beliefs?” 

Hermione observed how Malfoy tensed up, his jaw tightened and loosened. 

“My personal belief is that we all deserve a fulfilling life, whether you’re a squib or Muggleborn. I don’t care about - ”

“Darling. Stop taking up Rose’s time. She’s very busy,” Pansy whined. Hermione cringed inwardly as she wondered how could anyone date someone that insecure and clingy. 

Hermione hurriedly signed the other books. Struck by a spark of inspiration, she scribbled something in the last book and handed them over. 

“The last book is addressed to you.” His fingers brushed against hers in a gentle caress as he slipped the book from her. “Call it a token of luck.”

Feeling nervous from the intensity of his stare, the author cleared her throat and looked past the Slytherin couple at the next person in line.

“Thank you for coming and take care,” she dismissed them and watched as Pansy dragged Malfoy from the store, while he constantly kept turning back to stare at her. 

Did he discover a link between herself and this persona? Hermione really hoped not! Putting the man out of her mind, she focused on the next fan who beamed with delight. After all, she still had plenty of books to sign. Having been sat at the same table for two hours, there was at least another hour before she could leave.


	2. Chapter 2

When Draco escorted Pansy back to Malfoy Manor, Narcissa was waiting for them in the foyer.

“Pansy dear, would you join me for tea?” the matriarch invited Pansy with an extended hand. 

“Mother I have bought you a gift,” Draco handed over a pile of books, wrapped in brown paper and string. Narcissa took the gift with a smile. 

“You shouldn’t have. What did you get me?” 

“Only the most delicious stories Mrs. Malfoy. You will enjoy them so much,” Pansy interrupted and Draco watched the two women walk away to the orangery. The breast pocket of his robes was filled with his own gift from the author herself. 

Going to his room, he settled into his armchair by his personal fireplace before taking the book out of his pocket and stared at the cover. It’s swirling calligraphy title catching his eye.  _ To Muggle into a Wizard’s Heart _ . A wizard holding his wand in one hand, had another one wrapped around a woman in a state of dishevelled undress. 

Opening the front cover, he ran his finger over the message scrawled in beautiful cursive. 

_ “To Draco,  _

_ Love is indiscriminate.  _

_ Rose De Bois.”  _

Flipping open the book to a random page, he started to read before his eyes widened in shock and excitement. The words sprung up at him in a bold and unabashed fashion. Snapping the book shut, he threw in a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace before sticking his head in it.

He shouted into the fire, “Zabini. Get your flaccid prick over here now!” 

Still shocked over what he had seen, he poured himself a quick glass of firewhisky. Blaise had just stepped out of his fireplace when he poured himself a second glass.

“Did you know that witches read these kind of books?” he asked his friend, brandishing the book.

Blaise didn’t look surprised. 

“Didn’t you know that women enjoy porn too?” he asked, amused at his friend.

“But the kind of things that’s in them. Like…” Draco flipped through the pages until he found a page to highlight his point.

He read out loud, “With a casual flick of his wrist, the fastenings of her gown came undone. She gasped as the wizard’s mouth latched onto her nipple. A delicious burning scorched her down to her...” 

Downing his second glass of firewhisky he turned to Blaise.

“Pansy reads this kind of… smut! Oh Merlin…” A mortifying sense of realisation hit Draco like an icy shower. “I just gifted all those books to my mother,” he confessed, earning him a snickering laugh from his friend.

“Maybe your mother will feel inspired with your father later on,” Blaise said through his uncontrollable laughing. “Besides I did wonder where Pansy got all her suggestions from.”

Draco wondered what his friend meant about Pansy.

“What’s going on between Pansy and you?” he asked. Blaise abruptly stopped laughing and gave a nonchalant shrug. 

“We have a temporary arrangement,” Blaise explained before excusing himself to go to the bathroom.

It gave Draco some time to read another excerpt of the book. Perhaps he might understand what Miss Rose de Bois enjoys from reading her dirty little stories.

* * *

His bedroom door flung open before Blaise rushed in and hurriedly locking the door and silencing the room in the process. Draco took in his friend’s panicked appearance.

“You look like you’ve seen a basilisk.”

Blaise pulled him up by the shoulders from his chair.

“If you still want any autonomy over your fate, you need to leave now. Go somewhere where your parents can’t find you,” his friend warned.

“What are you talking about?” 

Perhaps Blaise has been confounded into a paranoid state. Pulling a memory from his dark temple, Blaise quickly deposited it into a conjured vial. 

“No time to explain. Leave now! Don’t tell me or anyone where you’re hiding.”

Shoving the vial into the blond’s hands, his onyx eyes glinted wide with terror. It threw a cold chill down Draco’s back. He thought Blaise was joking with him, but it had become clear that the situation was truly grave. Danger was afoot in the Manor once more.

  
  


Draco waved his wand and pulled a few personal items into a messenger bag. Taking a last look at his terrified friend, Draco threw in a handful of floo powder and left Malfoy Manor.

* * *

Through a combination of Floo and Apparition to different points, Draco found himself at the Ministry of Magic. He headed towards the only office he knew he could trust. A Ministry employee watched him head for the Minister’s door and tried to stop him in his tracks.

“Sir, do you have an appointment with the Minister?”

Draco ignored the employee and barged into the office regardless. 

“Shacklebolt, you need to help me,” he begged. His wand held tightly in his hand.

Shacklebolt calmly dismissed his staff before offering Draco a drink.

“Mr Malfoy, what brings you to my office today?” he asked, handing him a glass of water.

Draco answered, “I believe I’m in danger and I seek your help.” 

Kingsley raising an eyebrow in response.

“And what kind of danger do you perceive yourself to be in Mr Malfoy? To be frank, I didn’t expect you would turn to the Ministry or me for help.”

Draco thought about the Minister’s question. What kind of trouble was he in? He only had Blaise’s memory in his bag. 

“If we can have access to a pensieve, I can show you the only evidence I have,” Draco offered and the Ministry mulled over it for a while. 

The man strode over to a large cabinet and opened it to reveal a small pensieve bowl. Draco dropped his friend’s memory into it and both himself and the Minister fell into the past.

* * *

_ They landed in one of the hallways in Malfoy Manor. Turning around, Draco got his bearings. He pointed towards Blaise Zabini as he walked down the long corridor, finally stopping at a partially closed door. _

_ The former Auror waved to Draco to follow his friend and they too leant closer to the door to eavesdrop. _

_ “You should have seen him Mr. Malfoy,” Pansy’s voice whined. “He was practically panting like a dog at the upshot nobody in front of the entire bookshop. Nobody knows about her background. I’m concerned that if Draco isn’t careful, he can be tempted to stray from good Pureblood values.”  _

_ They heard her sniff in an over the top cry.  _

_ “That’s alright Miss Parkinson. Lucius and I appreciate your frankness and knowing a girl like you, with a good head on her shoulders, is looking out for our son,” Narcissa replied. _

_ “I’m sorry for being so blunt, but it’s only because I care about him and this family. Who I see like my very own,” Pansy purred in a way that made Draco feel sick. _

_ “Speaking of family Miss Parkinson, we have wanted to have a meeting with your parents. To start a conversation on bringing our families closer with a joyful union between Draco and yourself,” suggested his father. Draco felt sick to his stomach. _

_ “I have always wanted a winter wedding,” Pansy confessed. “However what if Draco wants to… delay such a happy occasion.”  _

_ Delay? Draco thought. More like outright object! _

_ “I’m sure with your charms and our encouragement, Draco would come round to the union,” Narcissa encouraged. _

_ “Indeed, or I will imperius the boy to the altar if I have to,” Lucius added garnering a giggle from Pansy.  _

Before the Minister and Draco heard any more of the conversation, they were pulled out of the memory.

* * *

Draco stared at the pensieve in deep thought. He couldn’t believe what was being discussed between the three of them. Marriage. A marriage between himself and Pansy Parkinson. They might as well tie a noose around his neck. There was so much more he wanted to do with his adult life. Aspirations. But if his parents had their way, those aspirations will never happen.

“Mr. Malfoy,” the deep baritone voice of the Minister addressed him. “In light of the information we have heard, do you consent to a marriage between yourself and Miss Parkinson?”

A heart-sinking sense of disappointment and sadness swept over Draco. His own parents signing his life away in a marriage, like sacrificing a pawn to win. They didn’t care about what he wanted, his own choice.

Draco answered quietly, “no. I don’t.” 

Kingsley nodded in understanding before casting a patronus. The silver lynx sprinted out of the room carrying his message. 

“Can I offer you a seat while we wait for two trusted Aurors come?” The Minister gestured to the chairs at the desk and Draco sat down. 

The door knocked and opened and Draco looked at the two Aurors who walked in with dismay.

“Not them,” he objected. “Any other Auror in the Ministry, but not them.”

* * *

Propping her broom against the wall after a gruelling day of Quidditch training, Ginny looked around Grimmauld Place. No longer was it an old dilapidated place, but more of a shell of what it had once been. Swaths of wallpaper stripped off, floorboards exposed and furniture covered in dust cloths. If Ginny felt tired already, she felt completely exhausted at the thought of all the refurbishment that still needed to be done.

After she changed out of her Quidditch gear and placed dinner in the oven, Ginny began stripping more wallpaper from the hallway when the front door opened and closed. Harry came home and wrapped his arms around her in a tight loving hug. 

“What’s for dinner tonight?” he asked, dropping kisses against her neck.

“I’ve put a cottage pie in the oven. It should be ready in half an hour.” Her heart fluttered in delight. She would never tire of him showing her affection. 

“Let me help you get some of this off before dinner,” he offered, unbuttoning his Auror robes. 

“Or you can set the table and shower. As much as I love you, you need it.” Thank goodness she wasn’t prone to swooning as Harry’s shirt was pulled over his head and he smiled so sweetly at her before walking away. 

Ginny managed to get a few feet of wallpaper off the wall by the time Harry had set the table, showered, dressed and called her from the kitchen for dinner. 

Serving herself a hearty portion of food, she took a good look at the love of her life. His messy hair fell over his eyes in an adorable way but he looked exhausted after the day.

“Anything interesting happened at work today?”

He gave a heavy sigh, “I should tell you now since we go to the Burrow on Sundays, but Draco Malfoy is under Ron and my protection there.” 

Thankfully she was without food or wine in her mouth, or she would have spat it out.

“Did you say Draco Malfoy is under Auror protection? At the Burrow?” she asked, checking that she heard Harry correctly.

“Apparently his family is forcing him to marry against his will.” Harry continued to eat dinner as if it was all part of a day’s work.

“Does he have cold feet or does he not love this girl?” she asked, Harry shrugging in response.

“I didn’t want to delve further into Malfoy’s love life.”

“Well if he loved her, he should just take the leap of faith and marry her,” she said before spearing some peas with her fork in frustration. 

“Two people in love don’t have to get married,” Harry said. 

Ginny glared at her boyfriend. He was going to bring up  _ that _ same issue again. It has nothing to do with Draco Malfoy. 

“Well maybe people in committed relationships want to publicly declare their love for each other in front of their friends and family,” she said with gritted teeth and shoved more mash in her mouth.

Harry sighed, his hand reached over to hold hers. His emerald eyes pierced through her very soul. “Ginny. I love you. I’ll never love another woman the way I love you. All I need in the world, more than air or water itself, is your love. Do you love me?”

The gentleness of his voice weighed heavily on her heart.

She replied softly, “Of course I do.” 

“We know we love each other. Do we need to prove it to the rest of the world? Like Rita Skeeter writing about our wedding.”

The thought of having the horrid journalist anywhere near her wedding sounded positively awful. Harry lifted her hand to his lips to place a tender kiss.

“Let’s not talk about marriage yet,” he released her hand to continue eating. “Otherwise we might be hounded about when we’ll be having children next.”

She smiled at Harry, a plaster to cover up the pang of yearning in her heart.

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

Draco had never seen anything like the Burrow. To call it a house, or a cottage, or a farm would be ridiculous. Such a mis-match patchwork of buildings and extensions, he didn’t know where to begin with his derogatory insults.

He stayed in one of the rooms, which had a lumpy single bed and a shelf of polished cups and medals. Everything in this particular room was orderly and from what he could gather from the engraved cups, this room once belonged to Percy Weasley - the pompous bureaucrat extraordinaire! 

Feeling lost and uncomfortable in the presence of so many Weasleys, he chose to stay in his room, staring out of the window, contemplating over the face of the woman who he couldn’t get out of his head. He thought about Rose’s perfect kissable lips and the way she looked at him with intrigue, wondering if she did much else outside of her time as a writer. 

Draco read her novel, which he managed to bring, but stopped at various points of the book to take ‘relieving breaks’ when the intensity of the story became too much. The characters Olivier and Cecilia sprung out of the pages, like living, breathing people with flaws and passions. The character Olivier, a Pureblood wizard with little interactions with the Muggle world, was someone who he recognised a lot within himself. Between the lines, he imagined Cecilia to resemble Rose. Angelic, fiery and utterly ravishing. He hoped that one day, he would be free from his current situation and free to win over this witch’s heart.

Through nosiness and sheer boredom, he found plenty of paper, quills and ink pots in the desk drawer. By the fifth day, he made good use of the stationery, scribbling thoughts and musings. Within a week since his arrival, he had written half a dozen poems. The once neat room was now a sea of crumpled balls of paper. 

When the Weasley matriarch walked into his room one day with a tray of soup (which Draco begrudgingly thought was delicious) and fresh bread, she wrinkled her nose and promptly walked out of the room - tray and all. It confused Draco why she refused to feed him today but he heard her stomping back up the stairs and his door opened again. 

“I’ve had enough. You are putting on some Quidditch gear and getting on a broom in the paddocks at once!” Molly shouted as she dumped a pile of clothing on his bed, before slamming the door. Her mutterings could be heard fading away and Draco wondered what all that was about. 

Hastily filing away his poems into envelopes and dressing in borrowed and ill-fitting Weasley Quidditch gear, Draco left his room. 

“Don’t come back in the house, until I tell you so!” she shouted as he walked out of the back door.

The air outdoors was fresh and breezy, and the sun shined down and warmed his face. Taking a deep inhale, he realised that Mother Weasley wanted him to get some fresh air.

He found the broom shed and pulled out the least battered broom he could see. Before he knew it, he was a hundred feet off the ground feeling like a new man. Weightless, free and happy. This was the most relaxed Draco had felt in a long time. Performing corkscrews, nose dives and loops, he was so engrossed in how much fun it was that he almost didn’t hear Molly calling his name.

Looking down at the Burrow, he saw the matron leaning out of the kitchen window ushering him back inside. Were all the Weasleys treated like this? Given orders to exercise and told when to get back into the house? 

Whistling on his way back in, his cheery bubble burst when he realised the entire Weasley family, Potter and Granger were milling about on the ground floor. 

“Draco dear,” Molly said as she stormed through the corridor, her arms laden with towels and clothing. “Shower and change. Dinner starts in fifteen minutes sharp.”   
  


She dropped the pile into his arms before pushing him up the stairs and into the bathroom. Draco showered quickly and dressed in more Weasley hand-me-downs. Taking the creaky stairs towards lunch, he could hear the living room roar with laughter.

“I’ve got something better,” one of the older Weasley shouted, before he continued with his next words.

“O Rose, sweet Rose.

How I yearn to kiss your nose.

O Rose, lovely Rose,

On your lap I’d like to doze.

O Rose, sweet Rose,

Your silky hair shimmers and flows.

O Rose, lovely Rose,

Deliver me from my woes.”

His face heated up in a mix of anger and embarrassment. They were reading _his_ letters. Gripping his wand tightly, he burst through the door and summoned all of the letters. A body-binding spell hit him, his bound body fell backwards. All the letters fell in a flutter on the floor around him.

“Oh, it’s only Malfoy,” Ron said with his wand still raised. 

Granger looked down at him, his eyes throwing daggers at her.

“You should know before I unbind you that, surprising a room full of Aurors and war veterans is a really stupid idea.” 

With a flick of her wand, he was released and tried to pull all his letters together, but the papers stacked itself neatly in a pile in front of him.

“I appreciate some privacy while I remain under _your_ protection,” he glared at them all. He hated being indebted to the heroes of the war. 

“It’s just a joke, Malfoy. Lighten up,” Ron explained, which made him angrier. 

“We’re sorry for reading them out loud,” Harry said. “But under Auror protocol, we were scanning your room to reinforce security wards and Molly made us tidy your room at the same time. It is protocol to check that you weren’t going to write any letters that can compromise your safety.”

Draco couldn’t look at all the people in the room. They have read and heard his deepest feelings. Those were the words of intimacy which he had no intention of sharing. He was embarrassed, ashamed, and vulnerable.

Fortunately Molly called them all to lunch, which gave him an opportunity to run back to his room and transfigure the letters into quills. The quills were carefully placed behind the trophies in the room.

* * *

Not long after Hermione tried to wrap her head around the idea that Malfoy was living in the Burrow, Ron ran into the living room holding a copy of _‘To Muggle into a Wizard’s heart’_ and a handful of letters. Her stomach lurched with mortification when George and Ron read out all the terrible love poems that were written about _her_. Actually, Malfoy wrote about her pen name Rose De Bois. Not about her, Hermione Granger. 

After the long day of book signing, Hermione didn’t give much thought to Draco Malfoy’s appearance at the shop. With the new revelation, Hermione realised the problem this posed. Either Malfoy figured out her secret identity and was playing an elaborate joke, or he had a crush on a fictitious woman. Both conclusions made Hermione’s head spin.

Hermione managed to whisper a reminder to Ginny that she had made a promise. The redhead also heard Malfoy’s poems of love and was roaring with laughter, knowing the truth about everything.

When Draco Malfoy returned to the dining room, everyone was already seated. The only seat left was between Molly and herself. Hermione tried to avoid his gaze as he sat down. Ginny sat facing her, glancing between herself and their lunch companion. Judging by the giddy delight in Ginny’s face, she may not be able to hold her promise for long. Hermione glared daggers at her best friend.

Everyone reached for the dishes laden with roast chicken and all the trimmings as soon as Draco had sat down. Hermione noticed Malfoy didn’t dive in to the incredible food before them. BIt seemed like Molly noticed too, and served generous helpings onto Malfoy’s plate. 

“Draco, you have barely eaten since you’ve arrived,” the matron said. “I want you to finish _everything_. Harry, I’ve made your favourite treacle tart for dessert. There’s plenty for everyone.”

Everyone ate in silence, sans the chewing noises that came from Ron Weasley’s mouth. The revolting habit distracted her from formulating a plan to figure out Malfoy’s true motives and how to get him to stop.

“Hey Fleur, have you read any of those new books from that author Rose de Bois?” George asked and a pea slipped off Hermione fork in surprise. She sensed Malfoy was equally tense.

“Not yet. Some of my colleagues said they are very good. ‘Ave you?” responded Fleur politely. Hermione wished she could charm George’s mouth shut.

“You should read them Fleur,” Ginny added. “They’re very good,” 

“What kind of books are they?” Arthur asked as he joined in the conversation, oblivious to the undercurrent of the table.

“Not the sort of books for you Dad. They’re romance novels and saucy too,” Ginny replied with a hint of cheekiness in her tone.

“I’m sure Fleur and Arthur have other genres of books they would rather read,” Hermione said, in the hopes that they will change the conversation.

“You never know what sort of books people might enjoy. Haven’t you read _all_ of them?” This time, Ginny’s suggestion was met with a sharp kick under the table.

“I don’t know. I like to think I read extensively and not just fiction.” 

Malfoy snorted beside her.

“Excuse me. Do you need a Pepper-up potion?” she asked him and for the first time since she put him in a body-bind, they locked eyes. His silver ones flecked with golden shimmers of annoyance.

“I’m perfectly fine,” he replied as he continued to eat his lunch with a smirk on his face.

Hermione’s annoyance increased, surely he was in on the joke and toying with her.

“There are other titles that Rose de Bois has written. There’s _A Squib’s Seduction_ or _An Elf to Remind Her,_ ” Ginny recollected.

“It’s Remember, not Remind her,” Hermione corrected automatically, only to realise her mistake of admitting she knew about all of those books in great detail.

Malfoy snorted in derision again. She was pretty sure he knew and she needed evidence without everyone finding out.

“If Hermione thinks highly of zeese novels, I might pick up a copy tomorrow,” Fleur said, trying to keep the conversation friendly.

“Maybe Malfoy would lend you his copy. He too _loves_ this author,” George suggested with mirth.

“That’s enough George!” Molly snapped. “Ginny, you should know better.” 

Hermione was pretty sure Malfoy was just as grateful as she was for Molly’s intervention.

* * *

The rest of lunch was eaten in relative silence, giving her enough time to think of her plan. Molly had George and Ginny wash the dishes in what Hermione suspected to be a punishment for making her guest uncomfortable. This gave her the chance to use the bathroom and splash cold water on her face to calm down the red flush. Exiting the bathroom, she almost walked into the blond who had made her Sunday afternoon very uncomfortable. 

“Sorry,” she apologised, feeling the embarrassment warm her face. 

“Whatever, Granger.” He sneered down at her as he skirted round her. 

“Could I ask you something?” Draco stopped in his tracks at her question.

“Depends, I’ve not got all day,” he said in a bored fashion.

“What is it about Rose de Bois that you like?” she asked carefully, Hermione wanted to know about this new admirer of hers.

“How I feel about someone else is none of your business,” he snapped, but it was every bit her business. 

“I actually know a fair amount about her,” Hermione revealed, hoping it would get him to open up to her a bit more.

“How can that be possible?” Malfoy asked suspiciously and then he smirked with glee. “So you have read all the books.” 

Hermione swallowed hard, perhaps he didn’t make the connection between her and Rose.

“I like to read to relax,” she explained. “She was a few years above us in Hogwarts and she used to help me find the books I needed in the library.” The lie fell out of her lips easily. “Truth be told, I never thought she would be interested in Slytherins or people with a ‘dark past’.” This was very much true, Hermione had never found herself attracted to a Slytherin or a former Death Eater before.

“How would you know what she thinks of me? Just because you claim you know her,” the blond wizard sneered at her, but she needed to find out whether he was just infatuated and whether she could get him to stop.

“Let’s be honest, Malfoy. Isn’t it a bit inconvenient to be ‘in love’ with someone while you’re stuck here?”His grey eyes looked at her unimpressed as if she had uttered the most obvious fact in the world. “If you want to know more about her, we can talk more tomorrow evening and in the event you do meet her again you might save yourself from the heartache with preparedness.”

Leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, Hermione wasn’t sure what Draco was thinking as he stared at her even more intently.

“This is some set up between the Golden trio, and I want no part in it,” he finally said.

“Harry and Ron don’t know about what I’ve just proposed to you. In fact, nobody knows. This will stay between just you and me,” Hermione tried to explain.

“Nice try. What do you get out of this?” Draco asked, his hair falling into his eyes. 

He asked her a superb question. What would she get out of this? The chance to stop her former tormentor from being infatuated and in love with her. To cease the strange juxtaposition of the situation. All of which she couldn’t say.

“To make sure creepy men like you aren’t bothering my friend Rose.”

Draco Malfoy nodded as he thought of her answer.

“Fine, Granger. I’ll do it. Only to prove you wrong. I’m neither creepy nor easily swayed.” Draco straightened up and began to head to his room.

“See you tomorrow night then,” Hermione said after him. “At eight o’clock, behind the chicken hut.” 

He only nodded in agreement before closing the bedroom door behind him. Leaving Hermione to ponder what had she done to herself.

* * *

Ginny was relieved to have finished washing all the dishes but she felt like it was worth it for the priceless comedy she had at lunch. The idea that Hermione’s school bully was in love with her and her dirty books were hard to imagine. Throughout lunch, she wanted to laugh and share the hilarity of the situation with her family and Harry. Too bad she made a promise to keep Hermione’s secret. On her way out of the kitchen, Hermione walked in. She looked flustered, like she was about to do a test. 

“What’s got under your bonnet?” Ginny asked. Hermione huffed and pulled her outside into the garden.

“A damn inconvenience is what. I know I might sound like Harry but I’m sure Malfoy is playing a game with me and he knows,” Hermione said in a mad rant.

“How do you know he’s not genuine?” Ginny asked.

“Because this is Malfoy. He can’t possibly be in love with a woman he met for only a minute. He must have figured out who I really am. He’s smart enough to do that.” 

Ginny bit her lip in worry as she watched Hermione pace back and forth in the garden, wearing down the patch of grass beneath her feet. 

“What proof do you have that he has worked it out?” 

“He was taunting me when I bumped into him upstairs. But I have a plan. I’m going to figure him out and see if he’s telling the truth. I’m going to convince him these feelings are ridiculous. A crush.” 

Ginny knew Hermione was one of the smartest people in the country. But at this present moment, her plan was the stupidest thing she had ever heard.

“You know this may not work. I mean strange things happen to people when it comes to love. Harry never thought of me as anything but Ron’s sister. Now we love each other.”

“But that’s Harry and you. You two are meant to be together. I’m pretty sure Harry would do anything for you. There’s no way that Malfoy is going to change all his pre-conditioned Pureblood values just because he fancied a witch he just met.”

Ginny felt conflicted and tried not to show it. Was Hermione right about Harry? That he would do anything for her? Even if it meant changing his mind on marriage and family? She wasn’t sure about it. But what she’s pretty sure about was how foolish Hermione’s plan seemed to be when it concerned Draco Malfoy. Ginny was going to have to keep her eye out for her friend.

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

Lucius observed carefully when the Ministry employee walked into the Minister of Magic’s office. Having been waiting in the same chair for over an hour, Lucius understood perfectly well the kind of game that was being played here. Fortunately he has the patience to get what he wants. The door opened again and the employee looked at him apologetically.

“Sorry, Mr Malfoy,” the employee said. “Minister Shacklebolt is running over his appointments. Would you like to reschedule for another day?” 

“I am here on behalf of the Hogwarts School Board. There is an urgent budgetary matter which needs the Minister’s attention today. If he cannot resolve the issue by sundown, I’ll be sure to make you accountable for the Ministry failing to secure the education of our future generation,” Lucius said threateningly. 

The employee paled and excused himself. A minute later, he returned to usher Lucius into the office. Lucius gave the man a withering stare as he walked passed him. Since he had come of age, he had had the privilege of entering this office during three previous Ministers’ administration. Each one had injected their own character and personality into the room. From the cartography favoured by Millicent Bagfold, to Fudge’s time filled with photographs of self-importance. It seemed like this Minister preferred sumptuous furnishings in bold and bright patterns.

“Thank you for seeing me in your  _ busy _ schedule, Minister Shacklebolt,” Lucius said as he sat down on a plump chair in front of the Minister. The two men sat tall in their chairs, trying to assert dominance in the room.

“I don’t have a lot of time to discuss Hogwarts’ matters in a full meeting,” Shacklebolt said in his usual baritone voice. “Please brief me on the issue and I’ll see what the Ministry can do to assist.”

Lucius took a thick envelope from his pocket and placed it in the middle of the desk.

“I have here a report on the unexpected repairs that weren’t originally forecasted in this year’s budget. These repairs require a curse breaker and skilled masons to work on. We require the ministry to pledge extra resources for this emergency before any students are injured at school,” he explained. What Shacklebolt didn’t know was that the problem was already in the Board’s attention at least a month ago.

Kingsley accepted the envelope with a feline grace. “Let my team evaluate the report and we will get back to you on any further questions.”

“The Board would like your response within three days so the school can take action on the emergency,” Lucius confirmed. “To be honest Minister, we were surprised when we didn’t hear from you after my son Draco said he would come by to discuss the matter with you,” Lucius remarked as he carefully studied the man.

“No, he did not,” Kingsley replied casually. “Is that everything Mr Malfoy? My next appointment should be here by now.” 

Lucius stood up, knowing he was excused.

“Thank you again. We look forward to hearing from you.” 

The men bowed to each other as Lucius showed himself out of the office. 

Determined, the angry father headed for Knockturn Alley. For the right price, there would be Aurors who would be willing to give up his son’s location.

* * *

Twelve minutes late and he  _ lives  _ in the Burrow. Hermione fumed while she paced behind the chicken coop, her wand lit in a faint glow. She didn’t want to make a scene by appearing at the house this evening, but if Draco didn’t come out any second now, she would storm into the house and have a rant at him. 

“Hello, Granger.” 

Whipping around, she saw Draco standing nonchalantly on the other side of the coop.

“You’re late,” she said and began to walk towards the hedgerow. They were still within the perimeters of the Burrow but out of sight.

“What do I get out of this silly rendezvous, Granger?” Draco asked, reluctantly following her.

Hermione stopped and spun around to face him. “Well you said it yourself that you are attracted to Rose,” she replied.

“It’s not just an attraction,” he responded defensively. Silver eyes glared at her while he crossed his arms. Hermione needed him to trust her to carry out her plan.

“Well don’t you want her to return your… affections?” she reasoned.

Draco replied, “If I did, why does it matter to you?” 

“Like I’ve said before, I know her and as a caring friend, I want to make sure she’s not falling in love with an arsehole.”

“I’m not when I don’t want to be.”

“Considering you’ve tormented me since we first stepped into Hogwarts, I find that hard to believe.”

“Fair point,” he said.

“So let’s play out the scenario when you finally see her again,” she proposed. “At this point, we’ll play out the most positive outcome, where she would find you handsome and charming. So call me Rose.”

Draco raised a fine eyebrow at her, for a moment Hermione wondered if she gave away her secret.

“This is really silly, Gra-.”

“Rose,” she confirmed. Her body hummed with anticipation, hoping the blond would play along.

Silver eyes watched her suspiciously, tension moving between them in thick tendrils. But then Draco’s eyes glimmered with mischief as a smirk grew across his face.

“Hello, Rose,” Draco said in a low husky tone.

“Hello. I’m sorry but have we met?” Hermione replied, feeling her voice quiver slightly at the thought that they are actually playing this game.

“We have, I’m Draco. We met at your book signing.” 

“I remember now. It’s nice to see you again Draco.” Hermione held out her hand to shake.

His paler, bigger hand reached over to take hers, and brought it to his lips, brushing a soft caress against her skin.

“Charming,” she dismissed, as if it didn’t send an unexpected jolt down her spine. “Tell me about yourself. I don’t seem to remember you from school.”

“There’s not much you need to know about my school years. I made some bad choices, most were aimed at Potter and his friends. Then some bad choices were thrusted upon me. I did what I could to survive,” Draco said to her seriously.

“It mustn’t have been easy,” Hermione said as she stepped closer to him, trying to play an empathetic author who’s attracted to the man. Close enough that she caught a faint whiff of his cologne, a clean and attractive scent. 

“What about your future? What does Draco Malfoy most desire?” The heat of his skin burned through to her hand as she brushed it against the hand-me-down shirt sleeve. 

“Freedom.” 

“You’re not in Azkaban. You can do whatever you like,” she pointed out.

“Freedom from the past and those who wish to keep me there.” Draco looked away as if he was ashamed of his position. Harry had explained why he was under Auror protection at the Burrow so she decided to change the subject.

“What was your impression of me? You can be perfectly honest here,” she asked, although secretly a little scared to know the truth.

“I think you’re beautiful,” Draco answered.

Hermione chuckled to herself. “That’s your lust speaking. My looks will fade and you will look elsewhere.”

“‘Not all lust burns to ash’,” Draco quoted from her novel, and it took her by surprise.“You’re also brilliant,” he said.

“Only until I lose my wits with age,” she retorted.

“I can see you have a sharp tongue,” he added.

Hermione replied, “Careful. I may sting.” 

They grinned at each other in agreement, falling into the roles they have cast themselves in.

“I really like how refreshingly honest you are,” Draco complimented. “It was very clear in your writing.”

Despite her trade, Hermione was lost for words.

“What about you Rose? What do you want from the man of your dreams?” he asked. 

Hermione took a moment to think of her answer, as she studied the wizard. Noting how the sleeves of his hand-me-down shirt was rolled up to show toned forearms. The way a few strands of his hair fell over his brow in a kind of attractive way.

“An open man,” she said before taking a deep breath to better explain herself. “Someone who will accept my mind, my appearances, and what I love to do. Someone who doesn’t have pre-existing expectations of me, my equal,” she confessed. It felt strange to confess this to Draco Malfoy of all people.

“You can write whatever you want,” he said. “As romantic or filthy as you like. Even if you decided to write full biographies of - dull Hogwarts professors that is fine with me.” His arms unfolded and something pulled in Hermione’s stomach to reach out for his hand.

“That’s very nice of you to say,” she replied. “Enough about me. What is your perfect woman like?” Hermione asked.

“That is hard to answer.” Draco looked up to the darkening sky which gave her the perfect moment to study his face. 

No longer could she describe his face as pointy, but more refined.His striking platinum blond hair fell loosely around his face since he had lived in the Burrow.

“The important thing is that this woman is loving,” he finally answered. “She has to be smart like you, similarly practical, and strong.” 

Hermione struggled to breathe as he described her.

“What about a Pureblood family line?” she asked.

Draco’s eyes hardened at the mention of blood purity.

“I don’t give a flying pixie about that,” he said.

“Thank goodness. Neither do I.” Hermione tried to grin to reassure him. But the lightness of the atmosphere between them had shifted again. “Are you sure you don’t want a tall and slim model who can bend in a hundred different ways?” she suggested. Draco laughed instinctively in response. She had never seen him laugh at a joke she made before.

“That’s not a requirement for my ideal woman,” he said.

“That’s lucky for me then. I’m not very flexible at all,” Hermione commented, although she wondered whether she was talking as Rose de Bois or about herself. 

It didn’t occur to her how close they were standing to each other, until an owl in the meadows hooted loudly. His hand instantly clasped around her wrist. Pulling her out of her reverie, before they sprang apart. They were Hermione and Draco again. No longer Rose and Draco.

Clearing his throat, Draco spoke first, “Thanks for your help, Granger.”

He wouldn’t have known that Hermione was trying to avoid his gaze too.

“No problem, Malfoy. Perhaps I’ll contact Rose later. Shall we say, same time, same place next week?” she suggested.

“Sure. I best get going. Molly would turn the pigsty upside down if she doesn’t coddle me.” 

With those final words, Draco made a hasty move back to the Burrow. Hermione watched his platinum blond head move out of sight as she reviewed her plan.

  
  



	5. Chapter 5

The room was dimly lit by the embers of a dying fire and a few candle stubs around the bed. A woman of jet black hair was sprawled across it, her face planted in the pillows. Returning to his occupied bed, glasses of water in hand; Blaise felt mischievous when he trickled drops of cold water down the woman’s bare back.

“Bastard!” Pansy shrieked, glaring at the chuckling dark man as she accepted the offensive glass. 

He replied, “it was too good to resist.” 

“You can drive a woman mad. No wonder you don’t have a girlfriend.” 

The pair sat naked side by side, so at ease with each other as to not bother with modesty.

Eventually Blaise spoke up, “I thought you didn’t want to do this again.”

Pansy shrugged. “I just felt like it.”

“You’re mad about something,” Blaise reasoned. He knew from the moment she walked through his front door a few hours ago.

“No I’m not!” she confirmed.

“Clearly you _aren’t_ mad at the Malfoys,” he said, putting his glass down before reaching for his cigarette case.

“I just don’t get it,” Pansy whined. Blaise offered her a cigarette and lit it for her. Watching her carefully as she glared at the canopy whilst taking her first drags of smoke.

“What is it about me that he doesn’t want?” she asked, her dark eyes glistened with hurt and Blaise wasn’t sure what to tell her. 

“I have no idea,” he lied. It would have been the worst time to tell her that she was a short-fused drama queen with little common sense. 

“What is it about Malfoy, that makes you want to marry him in the first place?” he asked.

Pansy took another drag of her cigarette before answering. 

“Why not? I’ve always set myself high standards. Pureblood, wealthy, and attractive,” she said. 

_I’m Pureblood, wealthy, and attractive._ Blaise thought to himself. He didn’t understand women, especially women like Pansy who couldn’t seem to think rationally at all.

“If there were three equally Pureblood, wealthy, and attractive men who proposed to you at the same time. Let’s imagine them as three copies of Malfoy. Who would you choose and what would make that man different?”

Blaise smoked the rest of his cigarette and stubbed it in the crystal ashtray beside him. Pansy looked contemplative as she thought of an answer.

She replied, “I suppose, he would keep me on my toes and we would spend the rest of our lives keeping the relationship interesting. That’s why I chose Draco. Even when he’s not here, he continues to vex me.” 

Putting out the cigarette, she fluffed up the pillow to settle in for sleep. She was too preoccupied to see the look of annoyance across Blaise’s face. His mind boggled at how blind she was to Malfoy’s faults and lack of interest in her. Venting his own frustration, he casted a blindfold over her eyes, and bound her limbs to the bedposts.

“You’re a complete animal!” Pansy protested.

Blaise ran his tongue from her collarbone all the way up her neck, delighted in the shiver it provoked from her.

“Yes but you like it,” he said before he proceeded to ravish her senseless.

* * *

Ginny has never let her short stature become a disadvantage to her, until this very evening where folding and shaking out the creases of long stretches of fabric is similar to controlling a wayward Niffler inside a Gringotts vault. She tried her best to fold a newly sewn curtain in the living room of the Burrow with Hermione and her mum. If it weren’t for Hermione helping out with the pinning of hems and curtain hooks, she would have been here alone battling inanimate objects with her mother, or even Malfoy. 

“I had coffee with my captain, Gwenog, and she told me that she is considering early retirement,” she shared with the room. It has been on her mind since she found out yesterday.

“Why is she retiring? Is it because of an injury?” Hermione asked her, whilst carefully pinning a pair of gold and cream curtains.

“I think she is considering management instead” Ginny replied. “I often see her asking questions about tactics with our manager.”

“That’s rather sensible of her. Quidditch takes a huge toll on your bodies,” Molly added, her sewing needle weaving in and out of a curtain at rapid speed. “Especially if she wants to have her own family one day.” 

Tampering down her annoyance, Ginny reasoned, “We’re not in the dark ages, a woman can have a family and still play Quidditch.”

Spreading a freshly sewn curtain across the ironing board, she began pressing the hot iron along the seams. 

“Of course you can’t,’ Molly argued as she finished a hem. “What if you get injured? Who is going to take care of them? They don’t cook and clean for themselves. Even when they’re adults, you still end up sewing their curtains.” 

“That’s so old-fashioned mum,” Ginny snapped back as she felt her blood begin to boil. “People don’t have to have children just because it’s the right thing to do. And what about the father? He can stay at home while his wife has a successful career.” 

Her hand pulled the iron back and forth with a vicious force, causing more unwanted creases than intended.

“What Ginny is trying to say is that the younger generation are more flexible with child care,” Hermione said, trying to calm the two women down. “Sometimes the career of a woman could be more financially lucrative than a man’s and it would be silly to sacrifice that for the sake of traditions.”

Molly seemed more appeased with Hermione’s answer. 

“I could understand that it might be in _your_ case,” Molly said to Hermione gently. “Maybe one day you will be the head of the Wizengamot. But let’s be honest, Quidditch is a young person’s game.” 

Ginny wouldn’t admit it out loud but her mother was right about that. One bad fall and your career could be over. Some of her colleagues were talented on the pitch, but she knew they may not have other prospects when all their time was spent on broomsticks.

“Well if Harry is happy for you to continue Quidditch once you both have children, I guess I can’t dissuade you,” Molly commented before returning to her sewing.

Ginny remained quiet, the last thing she wanted to tell her mother was that marriage and children were the very last thing on Harry’s mind. It’s the whole reason why she was considering a bid for captain. The perfect role for her to sink her teeth into when she won’t be taking time off the pitch for popping out babies.

The living room door opened and a platinum blond head appeared through the gap. Ginny heard Hermione hiss sharply as she poked her finger with a pin.

“Mrs Weasley, I’ll be going for a walk around the paddock,” Malfoy said.

“Alright Draco. Bring in the chickens while you’re outside,” Molly ordered. 

Ginny noticed how her mother had become more comfortable at ordering Malfoy around the house; just like ordering around her own children. 

“Sure. I’ll be back in soon,” he replied, looking around the room before closing the door behind him.

Hermione gave out a big huff as she folded up fabrics.

“Is that the time already?” Hermione announced to the room. “Sorry Molly and Ginny, I still have some reading to do before my meeting in the morning. I’ve already pinned the hem to this piece of fabric, so it’s ready for sewing.”

Ginny watched curiously as Hermione gathered her things hastily before leaving. She wondered if Hermione was up to something and if her timing coincided with Malfoy’s walk. Then she shrugged and continued with ironing; she was pretty sure Hermione would tell her sooner or later.

* * *

Draco waited for Granger until her head of curls appeared around the hedgerow. He wasn’t sure exactly why he agreed to meet her a second time. Perhaps it was the monotony at the Burrow, anxieties about his future, or his only glimmer of hope was a woman he met not so long ago. Maybe he was just desperate for anything that could keep him occupied, even if it meant playing along with this witch’s crazy ideas.

“Finally decided to show up,” he said with a smirk.

“I’m not late,” she retorted. “We didn’t have a specific time set.” 

He studied her under wand light, noting how her face hadn’t changed much since their late school days. Only her demeanour seemed less earnest and more reassured. 

“What are we doing then?” Draco asked. “I don’t have all evening.”

He watched her bite her lip unconsciously as she looked up to him.

“Last time, we imagined if Rose would be more receptive to your feelings in the eventuality you both meet,” she took a sharp intake of breath. “This time, let’s imagine if Rose would be more… scornful towards you.” 

He raised an eyebrow, “and why would we do this?”

Hermione lifted up her chin to him. “So I know you’re not going to hex or curse my friend if she ends up not liking you.”

Draco glared at her in suspicion. He was still sure that Potter and the Weasleys are in on some sort of elaborate joke here and Granger was the actor in all of this. However nothing indicated that Potter or Weasleys knew about these meetings. Maybe Granger had her own secrets from them. 

“I don’t see the chance of that happening.”

“Isn’t it better to err on the side of caution?” she counter-argued. 

“Fine. Let’s see what happens,” he said as he crossed his arms. 

He watched her demeanour shift and a new twinkle in her caramel eyes sent a shiver down his spine.

“Nice to see you again Draco,” she said huskily. “Last time you said you were at my book signing. Have you read any of my books?” 

She stepped closer to him, with a swing to her hips. _Was Granger being flirtatious?_

“Yes it was a riveting read,” he played along.

“What did you like about the story? What did you glean from a story about a wizard and a Muggle falling in love?” Hermione teased. 

He thought about his answer for a moment and smirked when he knew what he wanted to say.

“The characters are fully formed and relatable. But there were some glaring issues in the story,” he criticised.

“Oh a literary critic,” she gasped mockingly. “A man of many talents. What did you find problematic in my writing?” 

Draco tried to not smile with amusement as Granger gazed at him through her eyelashes, her pink lips falling into a pout.

“I didn’t say problematic. I’m just doubtful of the power of sex in bridging the divides of two people from different environments,” he stated.

“So you’re telling me you’ve never had a mind-blowing, perception-changing blowjob?” 

It took Draco off guard when those filthy words fell from the normally prim witch’s mouth, before he composed himself again. Two can play the game of wits.

“That’s irrelevant,” he defended. “I’m pointing out that changing people’s perspectives is a long and difficult process. Lust and the physical acts of pleasure aren’t miracles in making that happen.”

Granger gazed at him quizzically, unconsciously biting her lips as he watched her process everything.

“I’d like to add that no woman has ever sucked me off to the point that it made me feel differently about the world or her,” he stated.

She pouted at him again. “It’s ok if you’re a bit inexperienced.”

“I didn’t say that.” Draco tampered down the defensive anger he felt within, “Just a bit disappointed in most women’s abilities.” 

“Are you trying to gain sympathy for your terrible non-existent sex life?” Granger teased.

“No. Only stating that I never met the right woman.”

The witch’s hand cupped his arm as she leant in, the warmth of her palm burning his skin through his shirt.

“I’m sure it’s not the woman's fault,” she pulled away as quickly as she had invaded his space. “Perhaps, Draco Malfoy, you are a cynic about love and passion,” she proclaimed as if it were a fact. It irked him immeasurably.

“Me? I have no idea what gave you that impression,” he replied sarcastically.

“It’s clear that you have never made a real connection with a woman. Are you sure it’s not wizards you’re attracted to?” she asked gently.

“I know exactly which sex I’m attracted to,” he said clearly, his self-control wavering as the conversation went on.

“Don’t take it the wrong way. I just had no idea,” she said innocently as her fingers idly plucked leaves from the hedge. 

“Who made you the expert of sexuality?” he retorted. 

“I have never suggested such a thing.” Hermione replied. “Maybe you’ve never felt that sexual connection because you have never loved someone else before,” she pondered. She let torn leaves flutter to the ground. “Let’s be fair, you don’t look like someone who is ‘in love’. There’s no signs of negligence in your appearance from pining.” 

Her eyes scanned his body, he felt like he was under inspection. The witch leant in again, close enough that he could smell the floral scent of her hair and observe her eyes shifting rapidly across the minute details of his face. 

“It’s not like you’ve got dark circles from lack of sleep, most men in unrequited love would find sleeping difficult.” 

“There are ways to help a man to fall asleep,” he said and was cut short when her hands reached for his forearms. Her thumbs rubbed against the insides of his wrists. Draco pulled back in shock.

“What are you doing?” he shouted. 

“As I thought, it doesn’t feel like your right arm is getting more _exercise_ than your left arm.”

Draco was flabbergasted. Lost for words. His mouth opened ready to verbally hurl something sharp at her again. But her hand quickly swept up and brushed her palm against his jaw.

“Not even a five o’clock shadow. Shaving daily as if you’re not pining for the woman you love and it doesn’t bother you at all.” she tutted.

“Ignorant witch,” he shouted. “I keep up my appearances in the eventuality of seeing Rose again. These small rituals of grooming are what keeps me sane in this pigsty!” 

Granger only shrugged at him. “That’s hardly any proof you love me. I bet you’re just like many other men I’ve ever met. To you, I’m just a girl for a good time.”

“That is not true,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Of course you would say that. There’s no proof for anything more than lust,” Hermione goaded. 

“I do love you, Rose. I would face ten Death Eaters unarmed for -”

“Such empty grand gestures. Those don’t account for true love. Actions of love are quieter and subtler,” Hermione argued with an exasperated sigh. 

“I do and I can prove it.” 

Rosy lips stretched into a smile and Granger laughed softly at him. “Please, you can act out any empty gestures you want.” 

“Then what do you want from me? Jump off a cliff? Hug a Dementor?” he shouted no longer holding himself back. 

Hermione shook her head at him, “That proves nothing. Even snogging me here and now will prove little of-”

Without much thought, he cupped her face and leant down to meet her in a kiss. Hermione went rigid in shock until he brushed his lips again against hers. As she gasped from the realisation of their actions, Draco’s body was now engulfed in a hot blaze, sinking deeper and deeper into their kisses. Their mouths battled for dominance as her arms wrapped around his waist; his hands now tangled into her soft curls. 

Something sharp stabbed the back of his hand, instantly making him pull back in pain. Granger’s eyes were wide with shock, her hair fluffed with bits of greenery; her lips reddened, open and gasping for breath. His heart hammered against his chest. He wondered if he looked just as equally dishevelled. Panic doused any lingering feelings of lust. Draco turned on his heels and fled back to the Burrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and leaving all the kudos. Chapter 6 will be with you soon and I will update this story every 1-2 weeks. It is my only writing priority right now so I aim to finish the story by the summer.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: For those who don't want to read any smut. Be very warned this chapter contains lemons.
> 
> Also thank you to Tridogmom for her continued support. She makes me better when I'm in a slump.

His teeth brushed and hair still wet from his shower, Harry found Ginny already in bed reading a book. He smiled inwardly, since Ginny had moved into Grimmauld Place with him, he couldn’t have been a happier man. As he got into bed he asked her what she was reading.

“It’s called To Seek a Quidditch Player,” she said, eyes still transfixed on the book. Harry’s interest peaked.

“Who is it about?” he asked as he wrapped an arm around his girlfriend, pulling her into a spooning position. He buried his nose into the nape of her neck, inhaling her scent.

“Aileron Featherby,” Ginny answered. “He’s a character in this book and his career came to an abrupt halt after an accident. Now he’s in rehabilitation with a care nurse.”

Harry didn’t quite hear everything as his hand brushed up and down her curves.

“Read me something from it.”

“You won’t like it.”

“I won’t know until I try.”

Ginny sighed before flipping back several pages in the book.

“‘Aileron eyes widened as the hem of Juliet’s shift rose higher and- Harry!” she gasped as Harry’s hand squeezed her ass hard.

“Keep reading,” he encouraged, a little shocked and starting to feel aroused by the fact that his girlfriend is reading…saucy novels in bed.

Ginny cleared her throat before continuing, “‘higher up her thighs. He felt a twitch in the base of his stomach as he gripped the edge of his wheelchair.’” 

Harry felt his own cock harden and pressed it against Ginny’s curves. 

“‘He knew he should look away for the sake of propriety. She was his nurse and not one of the many female fans of the past. Juliet huffed in frustration as it was clear even with her arms outstretched, she couldn’t reach for the jar. His mouth went dry as the petite female lifted a glorious silken thigh over the-’” Ginny gasped as Harry’s hand slid up her top to pinch a hard nipple. “‘Kitchen counter and she hoisted herself up onto her knees. He could now make out the bottom of her cheeks and the lace trim of her underwear.’” 

She moaned, closing her eyes to focus on Harry’s ministrations until his fingers released her erect nubs. 

“Why are you stopping?” Ginny complained.

“Because you stopped,” he reasoned as innocently as he could. “You haven’t finished yet.” 

In a huff, Ginny resumed with her storytelling.

“‘’Finally!’ The nurse cried, as she bent down to lower a large jar to the counter. A hot pulsating throbbing drew his attention to his cock. His hand fell to his lap and let out a small-’” Ginny moaned as Harry’s hand dipped into her knickers, her thighs widened to give him better access. “‘Groan from the contact. The healers said he would never feel anything below his belly button again. But the ache right now said otherwise.’” 

Harry easily glided his finger across Ginny’s clitoris from her slickness, as he kissed the lovely curve of her delicate neck. It excited him to listen to his love reading a dirty novel to him. 

“Fuck this,” Ginny huffed. 

He heard the book fall to the floor as his girlfriend sat upright. She scrambled to pull off her clothing and Harry did likewise. He was about to sit up when Ginny pushed a hand against his chest. Pushing him back down to the pillow, her flaming red hair falling around him like a curtain, she rode him to a blissful end. 

* * *

The ream of parchment was still pristine and the ink on her quill had run dry. Hermione sighed before putting the quill down to rub her eyes. After an hour of blankly staring at the parchment and out of her window, Hermione may as well admit that she officially had writer’s block. Deciding she needed another cup of tea, the brunette got up and strode to the kitchen of her small flat. Her mind kept going over what had happened a few evenings ago. It was all going according to plan until said plan completely derailed and rolled down a cliff into an explosive mess. 

Her heart leaped from excitement whenever she caught herself thinking about kissing Draco. In fact, she thought about it often and then wondered whether the event would repeat itself. It was really foolish of her to think these thoughts. It was supposed to be her  _ fictional characters _ who had all the drama. When she first started writing, it was for her own enjoyment. A way to channel her own hopes and desires which she wasn’t getting from a doomed relationship with Ron and the others that followed. It quickly became therapeutic and helped her embrace singledom. Now Hermione was stuck in a romantic mess of her own making. 

She should have just left Draco alone when his crush became public knowledge at the Burrow. When she figured that he didn’t make the link between Rose and Hermione, she should have let him pine like a lovesick puppy. She shouldn’t have come up with a stupid scheme to get him to fall out of love with Rose. Hermione sighed as the kettle whistled and magically poured hot water into the teapot. She shouldn’t have kissed him back.

A large pop sounded from the living room and a friendly voice shouted hello. Hermione took her teapot and mug out of the kitchen to see Harry’s head in her fireplace.

“Hi, Harry. Are you alright?” she asked whilst putting down her drink. 

“I’m ok, Hermione. Are you busy right now? If not, can I come over for a quick chat?” he asked, looking a little worried.

“Sure. I’ve just put the kettle on,” Hermione said and Harry disappeared. By the time he physically appeared in her fireplace, she had pulled out a second mug and poured out tea for them.

Harry thanked her as he took his mug and sat down on her sofa. 

“I’m on a work-related visit and honestly I could do it with your help right now,” he said, rubbing his eyes.

Hermione noticed how his clothes were wrinkled as if he slept in them, his eyes were puffy, and his breath smelt like rotting potions ingredients. 

“Have you been up all night?” she asked concerningly.

“Tried to. I’m having trouble with Malfoy,” he said before taking a sip from his mug.

“Oh,” she responded. “What kind of trouble?” Hermione asked casually as if she wasn’t interested in the topic.

“Getting him out of the Burrow and safe from an Imperius curse,” Harry sighed heavily. “He can’t stay there forever and the only way he can leave is if his parents aren’t going to get themselves involved in his love life. The Ministry’s powers are very limited in these situations.”

Hermione could see the dilemma. Even if Draco wasn’t forced against his will through an Unforgivable Curse and by other means, the most the Ministry could do is offer Auror protection.

“Can the Ministry arrest someone for an attempt to cast the Unforgivable Curse?” she asked.

“Someone can be arrested, but it’s hard to prove intent. If the Wizengamot does see proof, they would only get a few years in Azkaban at the most.”

“But if you can build a case that proves a person planned on committing one, you can arrest someone?” she asked, making sure if she understood the facts properly.

Harry rubbed his eyes under his glasses; Hermione knew he was thinking over her question. Suddenly he sat upright, his eyes wide open.

“You’re a genius, Hermione,” he drained his mug and leapt into her fireplace.

“Maybe go home and have a shower first,” she shouted after him as the green flames took Harry away. 

Hermione sighed. Even now, Harry leapt into action head-on. Now her tea was getting cold and unfortunately she still had to find some way to get around her writer’s block.

  
  


* * *

Ron was feeling reluctant with Harry’s plan as they both landed at the gates of Malfoy Manor. The iron-wrought gates twisted open and allowed them to walk up the gravelled path through a decadent garden. Why should  _ he  _ help an entitled Death Eater? But when his best friend explained the mission, he thought how Harry rarely led him wrong. It also helped that the more evidence they gathered to throw Daddy Malfoy into Azkaban, the sooner ferret Malfoy could leave the Burrow,  _ his own  _ parents’ home. 

Narcissa Malfoy waited for them, as they walked up to the front door. Her whole demeanour carefully poised, looking down at Harry and him. Ron held up his Auror badge with smugness as he walked up the stairs.

“May I help you?” the witch said, as if not phased by their surprise visit.

“Regular random inspection,” Harry said, Ron nodding in confirmation. He had promised to let Harry do all the talking. 

“I see,” Mrs Malfoy said. “Your colleagues were here not even a month ago. But I suppose you have your orders.”

“Yes we do,” Harry confirmed. 

Before they took another step forward, Narcissa held out a hand.

“Your warrant papers, please,” she said with a smile that never reached her eyes.

Harry passed her the purple Ministry paper, which she inspected as if it was a soiled handkerchief. Ron shifted on his feet, annoyed. He really disliked the snobbery that still exuded from the woman. Her family was seen as the scum of society because of their support of You-Know-Who yet she stands here in front of two Aurors like she is the Queen of England!

“Thank you,” she said, almost tossing the warrant back to the Aurors. “Let me escort you around.” 

Ron dug his hands in his pockets and followed Harry and their hostess through the Manor.

“Is your husband and your son at home?” asked Harry.

“They are out on business.” 

Ron gave Harry a knowing look. If only she knew her precious son was holed up at the Burrow because of her. They moved upstairs and all the way down to one end of the Manor and into a wing of bedrooms. 

Narcissa watched them perform their search with a keen eye. It made Ron nervous as he stuck wireless and invisible extendable ears - courtesy of George - onto the bottom of vases and under tables. Harry was playing his part in distracting the witch by asking questions about various objects or the layout of the rooms.

They made it across to the other side of the manor. Ron’s pockets felt a bit lighter than before. But he still had plenty of ears left.

“This is my Draco’s room,” Narcissa said as she threw open the door. 

Ron snorted at the Montrose Magpies black and white quidditch banners around the room. He moved to the bookcase and scanned all the books on the shelves. He heard Harry open the drawers and rifling through them. 

“What are you doing with my son’s possessions?” the witch demanded. 

Ron turned around, whilst slipping an ear to the back of a book. Harry held a couple of the Ferret’s shirts, scanning them with his wand. 

“This is part of my job as an Auror,” said Harry. His brows furrowed into a frown. “I detect traces of magical ingredients. I’ll have to take these with me for extra tests at the Ministry.”

His friend pulled out a large purple paper bag from his pocket and threw the clothes into the bag. 

Narcissa looked like she was catching flies before pulling herself up.

“Under what authority do you have to confiscate my son’s personal items?” she said through gritted teeth.

“Under Ministry orders,” Ron added, taking a few books and throwing them into Harry’s purple bag. “We will have these catalogued and tested before returning them in a few weeks. Bit of a backlog on the backend right now.”

A glaring Mrs Malfoy watched them like a hawk while Harry and Ron tossed in the odd item into the paper bag as they moved through what Ron figured was the Ferret’s personal rooms. He almost wanted to pinch the expensive bottle of vintage Ogden’s whiskey.

But Narcissa was onto him when she asked whether the bottle could contain dark magic. When he reminded her that her son once poisoned him with a bottle of wine, she remained quiet. The memory itself did dissuade Ron from consuming any drinks from the Malfoy household. He put it back on the shelf and Harry sealed the evidence bag and shrunk it to fit into his pocket.

Eventually they moved slowly from the bedrooms to the grand rooms on the ground floor, including the drawing room. The chandelier was replaced and the room redecorated. It still made Ron’s blood run cold. A ringing in his ears began, much to his discomfort. He gritted his teeth and moved quickly as he could, trying to not let Harry or Narcissa know how uncomfortable he was. 

He managed to put an invisible ear between a vase and the fireplace. 

“All good here, mate,” he said. The ringing in his ears shifted to a sound, a scream, Hermione’s screams.

“We’re ready for the next room,” said Harry to Narcissa, who promptly took them out of the room.

Ron didn’t look back as he almost ran out of the room. His heartbeat slowed, eventually back to normal as the sounds of screams faded.

An hour later, they were led back to the front door where Narcissa left them to walk down to the gates. Ron gave a big sigh of relief as Harry cast the charm to activate the invisible ears.

“I could do with a bloody drink after that,” he said and 

Harry nodded in agreement and asked, “Three Broomsticks or the Leaky?”

“The Broomsticks. Bit quieter in the middle of a school day.” 

They Apparated as soon as their feet stepped off the Malfoy estate.

* * *

Before Draco knew it, he had a routine at the Burrow. Wake up, tend to the chickens, breakfast, de-Gnoming or cleaning the chicken coop, reading, lunch, flying, reading, and tend to the chickens before dinner.

He didn’t mind the hens as they were the sanest things in the higgledy piggledy house of the Burrow. Secretly he named them all. The one that was always up to no good, Potter. The one that would smartly move the grains to one side so the other hens can’t get to them, Granger. And the one with the beautiful golden plume, he named Rose.

The past few days he has been relieved that Hermione Granger didn’t return to the Burrow. He hadn’t stopped thinking about his actions the other day and his feelings were conflicted, at best. He loved Rose, he did. He didn’t want to be kissing other women, especially busybody women like Granger. Eventually he put his impulsive act down to insanity. He had to be as he’s trapped at the Burrow; if he left, he would be trapped in a marriage to Pansy and Hermione Granger verbally trapped him into a position where he wanted to shut her up in any way possible. 

He put all these thoughts into a sealed room within his mind, like he was taught in occlumency, as he went about his morning chores. Today would have followed the same monotony of the previous day if it weren’t for the reminder that today is when the Weasley clan descends on the place for Molly’s Sunday roast. 

Bill and Fleur were the first to arrive through the door. Soon after, the funny Weasley, Weaslette and the bureaucratic-drip Weasley arrived. Draco was carrying a large plate of roasted potato, just as Granger walked in the house. He almost dropped the whole plate, as it was a spud managed to fall and roll across the floor. 

He swore and went down to pick it up before anyone else noticed. His hand brushed up against ink-stained fingers as she grasped the potato. He pulled back suddenly, unsure of what had happened. Their eyes met, her caramel flecked ones with his as they knelt on the floor; a pink blush spread across Granger’s freckled cheeks. 

“Don’t tell Molly,” he warned. Watching her chew her lip as she nodded in understanding made his throat dry. 

“You wouldn’t want the Weasley wrath to fall on you for wasting Molly’s food,” she said as they stood up. She vanished the wasted potato with her wand. 

Draco didn’t know what else to say to the curly-haired witch. Without another word, he hurried into the dining room to serve food. 

“You’re late!” shouted funny Weasley, Draco thought he was in trouble when Granger walked past him.

“I told Harry I would be a few minutes late,” she said and promptly sat next to the brother.

Draco placed the food down and tried to not draw attention to himself when he sat between Bill and Molly. 

“Where are Ron and Harry?” asked Granger. 

“Auror business,” Ginny replied.

Draco let out a sigh of relief. That’s two less people he’d have to put up with for lunch. Throughout the meal, Draco only answered Molly's questions and managed to avoid eye contact with the witch he’d kissed. 

After generous amounts of yorkshire puddings and roast beef, the meal ended and Draco was only too happy to leave the table. He was positively full and needed a long walk to burn it off. The convenience of a country walk also meant he could escape from Granger’s company.

A hand tugged his sleeve as he stepped out of the front door. He whipped around to only crash into Hermione’s soft body. Close enough he felt the breath of her gasp flutter against his neck and the smell of spices from her warm skin filled his nose.

“Sorry,” they said together.

“No, I’m,” they said again in unison. 

Draco cleared his throat. He noticed how her eyes wouldn’t meet his. 

“I’m going for a walk, alone,” he announced.

“Before you go,” she said, digging into her small purple beaded bag. Hermione pulled out a small letter and a rectangular parcel wrapped in brown paper and string.

“This is from Rose. I wrote to her recently and she asked me to give you this.” 

Draco took the gifts carefully, his feelings conflicted. Why was Granger helping him still? Did Granger mention what happened a few evenings ago to Rose? He opened his mouth to say something but Hermione interrupted him.

“I know you can’t send and receive any owls at the moment because of your situation. But I can deliver your letters for you. Harry and Ron don’t have to know about it. Just let me know next week if you have something to send back to her.” 

“Why?” he asked, he didn’t understand why she would help him.

“Call it a token of luck. Merlin knows you need some lately.”

Something about her words irked Draco and he thought he should say thank you. However the witch turned around and dashed back in the house leaving him standing agape in shock. He stared at the envelope in his hand, his name neatly written in purple ink. The parcel was small, book-shaped. 

Turning on his heels, he headed for the chicken hut and sat down on an overturned bucket. The blond tugged off the string and unwrapped the brown paper to stare at a book he recognised. A navy blue book cover of a Quidditch player holding a half-dressed woman in a wanton embrace. In silver words  _ To Seek a Quidditch Player  _ emblazoned across the top. His thumb peeled open the cover to find an inscription on the first page. 

_ “To Draco, _

_ May you find happiness.  _

_ From Rose.” _

A sickening knot twisted in his stomach, the only way to describe the feeling was guilt. Here was a witch who has only been sweet and kind to him. Why did he go and kiss Granger? Perhaps it wasn’t his fault. Maybe Granger was up to something more than just an elaborate joke on him. Draco thought about Granger’s ulterior motive. Was she hiding something? 

Carefully he opened the envelope and pulled out the letter written on thick paper. The feminine handwriting was as neat on the envelope.

_ Dear Draco, _

_ My friend Hermione has spoken to me about you. I am very sorry to hear about your predicament, forced into hiding because someone wants to exert their will over yours. It’s positively tyrannical! _

_ I gifted you one of my books, which I rarely do so it’s something I distinctly remember. What are your thoughts on it? It would greatly interest me to understand the male critique. I have also asked Hermione to give you another book to occupy your time.  _

_ Hope you don’t mind me asking, as I would like to get to know you better. What are your dreams and ambitions when you are free from Auror protection? Do you have a clear picture of the sort of future you want? _

_ At this moment I’m researching for my next book, this means I will be travelling and be busy interviewing people over the following weeks. However I hope to receive your response. _

_ Warmest regards, _

_ Rose de Bois _

Draco read the letter a few times, trying to analyse every dot, line and word. His nose itched with suspicion about the letter. How much did Granger reveal to the author? Why would Granger tell Rose about him in what seemed to be a positive light? There were too many unexplained issues and the aimlessness he had felt in the past few weeks at the Burrow had morphed into a new focused ambition. He was going to find out exactly why Granger was going out her way for him and her friend.

  
  



	7. Chapter 7

The shops on Diagon Alley were beginning to close their shutters as Lucius idly browsed through the shelves of Flourish and Blotts. It was now just him and the shopkeeper, the last customer having just left the store. Scanning the store to check they were alone, he took a few books to the counter.

“I’ve been asked to pick up another book for my son. But I can’t remember the name.” Lucius slid two photographs across the counter, one of a blond young man scowling and the other, a fashionable woman with cropped black hair. “Do you remember seeing my son and his fiancé a few weeks ago?” 

The owner looked at Lucius and the picture carefully before saying what he did next.

“I can’t be certain,” he said with caution.

Lucius withdrew a small purse and placed a few galleons on the counter. “Go on,” he encouraged.

The shopkeeper hesitated, his brows furrowed as he thought of his answer.

“I remember seeing a man with that hair colour, your hair colour, at this book signing a few weeks ago. It was easy to spot a man when the place had been swarming with witches all day.”

Lucius could barely contain his smirk. “And what book signing was this?”

The man pointed at a tower of books in pinks, lavender and opals. Lucius picked up the book from the top between his thumb and index finger, as if it were something of disgust.

“This… thing?”

“Yes, Rose de Bois. Romance novelist. Very popular with the witches. Especially the older ones. I had a peek in them myself, lots of shirtless men and a whole lot of filth, if you catch my drift.” The owner winked at Lucius knowingly.

“What do you know about this… person?” Lucius couldn’t bear to call her an author. Not when she wrote degenerate material as such.

“Nothing much really. I mostly spoke with her publishers. She was very polite on the day of the signing, quite modest and much preferred to talk about others. Attractive too.”

“Did she mention anything else?” Lucius questioned and threw the book on the counter. “Or talk to any other people that day?” 

“She arrived with a friend. A red-headed young woman. I think I recognise her from the sports section of the Daily Prophet. Can’t remember her name though,” replied the shopkeeper.

Lucius nodded in understanding.

“Thank you. I’ll take these now,” he finalised.

The man wrapped up the books, accepted the money and Lucius left Diagon Alley. He was determined to find his disobedient son one way or another.

  
  


* * *

Draco was walking back to the Burrow after a sweaty and exertive flying workout when he came across Potter at the front door. They nodded to each other in a polite greeting as they both entered the house.

“Hello Molly,” Harry shouted down the corridor. “Malfoy’s with me too.”

Molly peered at them from the kitchen door. 

“You’re both just in time for lunch. Wash your hands and set the table,” she said. 

Draco took the stairs two at time to the bathroom and washed his grimy face, slicked back his blond hair with water and washed his hands before heading back down to the dining room. When he walked in, Potter was laying out the cutlery and blinked a few times as he stared back at him.

“What’s the matter with you, Potter?” Draco asked.

“Nothing,” replied Harry. “You look a bit more like your younger self.” 

Draco sat down at the table and poured water into the three glasses on the table. Molly strolled in with a large tray of lunch.

“I’ve made a beef stew since you mentioned it yesterday Draco,” Molly said, placing the steaming dish in the middle of the table. “Harry dear, if I had known you were coming, I would have made a treacle tart. But I made a crumble, since Draco’s so fond of apples.” 

Draco could feel his face heat up as Potter gave him a mischievous grin.

“Crumble is everyone’s favourite,” he defended before helping himself to some food.

“I’m sure a young man like yourself would rather be gallivanting around the country,” said Molly. “Least I can do is feed you some of your favourites.”

Draco avoided eye contact with his former nemesis as they began to eat. Molly was the first to say anything at the table.

“How are the renovations coming along?” she asked.

Draco listened quietly as Potter described the dull progress of home renovations.

“So which room do you want your first born to have?” 

Draco raised an eyebrow at the Auror who shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

“Actually we aren’t going to have children,” he murmured. 

Draco was intrigued with the drama that was unfolding as Molly looked flustered.

“Sorry I get carried away. It’s still a while in the future, at least until you and Ginny are married.”

“We’re not getting married either,” Harry announced.

Draco couldn’t focus on eating when Molly looked aghast at the Boy Wonder.

“What do you mean?” she asked, her eyes wide in shock.

“Yes, Potter. Please explain why you don’t want to marry or have little sprogs with the  _ only _ daughter Molly has?” he interjected.

Harry cleared his throat, before saying, “Ginny and I made the decision that marriage and children don't define our love for each other. We are happy as we are.”

“But that’s not my daughter,” the mother denied. “She has always wanted to get married and have children. When she was a little girl, she would stuff cushions up her dress and wear pillowcases on her head.”

He could barely contain himself as Potter continued to argue with the protective mother. If Draco was his friend, which he wasn’t, he would have warned him to not argue with your future mother-in-law. Especially about children or marriage.

Eventually the conversation became so heated, Harry stood up abruptly. 

“Excuse me, I am being called back to work.” he said before carrying his unfinished plate to the kitchen. 

An awkward silence hung in the dining room. Draco tried to eat his lunch quietly while Molly blew her nose in a large handkerchief.

“Draco, let me give you some advice,” she said to him in a quiet voice. “If you ever meet a nice girl who really loves you, you should do everything you can to make her happy. Otherwise she will leave you one day.”

His heart panged with sadness, for Molly who wanted to protect her daughter and how disappointed she must be with Potter. Even he could tell, she treated him like her favourite son and to have him tell her that he would never be an official part of her family must have been devastating. It was at this moment, Draco wished his parents took his side as defensively as Molly stands up for her children. He wondered whether his mother would defend his choices to a partner.

The thought of a woman with bright caramel eyes and brown curls came to mind. Draco pushed it aside and nodded at Molly. 

“If you don’t mind, may I have some dessert?” he asked. 

The mother nodded and went to the kitchen to fetch dessert. While she was in the kitchen, Potter came back into the room, a large purple paper bag tucked under his arm.

“A few days ago, Ron and I went to Malfoy Manor to search the place,” Harry said. “We were able to ‘confiscate’ some of your stuff.” 

He placed the bag down and Draco hoped there were some of his own clothes in there.

“We’re gathering evidence against your father to prove that he had intentions to use an Unforgivable curse on you.” 

“Great. When am I safe enough to leave this dump?” he asked sarcastically.

Potter glared back at him. “You’re such a dick, Malfoy.”

“Well you’re an idiot.” 

Green eyes threw daggers at him. “You’re more of a dick than I am an idiot.”

“Seriously Potter,” Draco started. “You don’t know what a good thing you got here. Just give the women what they want before you lose it all.”

“This isn’t your business, Malfoy. Keep out of it.” Harry warned before he stormed out of the house.

As the front door slammed, Draco wondered what had gotten into him to give sage advice to his former nemesis and why he even cared whether Potter and Weaslette could stay together. The only conclusion he could come to was that Molly was slowly drugging him with an empathy potion in his food. 

* * *

  
  


Diagon Alley was busy as Ron made his way to the joke shop. Even after a few years, Ron felt that George wasn’t the same after Fred’s death. To be honest, Ron wasn’t sure he was the same either. There were days when George walked through the door and Ron was waiting for Fred to walk in behind him. Or when George cracked a joke and he would wait a second for a double punch. But it never came.

At first, Ron couldn’t bear the idea of visiting the shop, now he tries to visit often. The moment he opened the door, he was assaulted by the shrilling delight of children and moving hoard of customers. Puffs of rainbow hues burst and evaporated, while fireless fireworks whizzed around.

“Thank Merlin,” George said, his gangly arm pulled Ron through the crowd towards the tills. “Hold down the fort here, just dial in the price into the till, press total and put the money in the till drawer. Do not give people the wrong change! Give them a bag for their stuff.” 

George rushed off to the other side of the shop, leaving Ron standing behind the counter completely baffled. An exhausted witch with her three children threw items on the counter for him.

Fumbling for a bright purple paper bag, Ron began slowly putting the items through the till and into the bag, while the witch argued with her children on the limitations of money and how many toys a child can have.

A small line had formed at the till and Ron soon relaxed into serving the customers. He placed Pygmy Puffs on children’s shoulders once he rang them through the tills, eliciting giggles and joy. 

George eventually returned to the tills.

“Thanks for helping out,” he said whilst putting a voucher on the counter. “You can have a discount on your next purchase.” 

Ron glared at his brother, who gave him the cheeky wink.

“That’s it? You’re not even going to have a conversation with me?” he said feeling indignant.

“Aww poor Ronnykins. How was your day?” George asked sarcastically.

“A bit dull,” he confessed. “Work is more meticulous than I imagined. But the new ears you’ve provided have helped with the job.” 

“Are you talking about your job or Percy’s job? Don’t Aurors have exciting work, like arresting old Death Eaters?” George asked.

Ron didn’t want to tell George about how he felt when he and Harry went to Malfoy Manor and how he cried in the shower that evening. He reasoned that Aurors just got on with the job.

“It’s not like that all the time. These days, it’s getting quieter. Like sitting in a box room all day listening to stuffy people talk about their boring lives,” he confessed.

“Well it’s pretty much busy in here all the time,” George reflected, his smile dropped and looked seriously at him. “I was actually thinking it’s about time to get a new business partner.”

Ron was amazed. His first thought was Fred. What would Fred say?

“Why?” he asked.

“It’s time to grow the business. Make it as big as  _ we  _ had dreamt of it being,” George said wistfully. “He would have wanted me to make that happen.”

Ron’s stomach twisted in an uncomfortable knot, knowing that George had thought over what his brother Fred would have wanted in a future without him.

“I get that, but you would be giving away part of the business to some stranger,” he reasoned. He would hate the idea of the twins brightest achievement being taken over by someone who didn’t know Fred.

“Nonsense,” George replied. “I was going to keep it in the family.” 

“How?” Ron asked.

“Well, you can join the joke shop.”

Ron looked around him and ran his fingers along the edges of the counter for invisible extendable ears. Surely his brother was pulling his leg again.

“Stop picking on me. You messed about in a joke shop for so long, you forgot how to be serious.” 

“I’m serious,” George defended. “You said it yourself, your job is dull.”

“But I’m an Auror.”

“So what? You can have fun here every day,” George added.

“My job pays well,” Ron argued.

“With my business brains, you’ll be loaded working here.”

Ron opened and closed his mouth, not knowing how else to argue against his brother.

“I can’t leave Harry at the Ministry. I’m his partner.”

“Harry’s not going to hex you for leaving the job. He hangs out with us all the time anyway!”

Ron truly didn’t have any other reason to give George. His brother gave him a large pat on the shoulder.

“Have a think about it and get back to me later. But don’t take too long.” George said as he led Ron towards the door.

Before he left, George looked at Ron seriously saying, “I probably never told you this but you are  _ our  _ little brother and I know  _ he  _ would have wanted you involved.” 

A stone lodged in Ron’s throat, he wished there were two of the same faces staring at him right now. 

“Lemme think about it,” Ron replied.

George’s smile returned as he patted his younger brother’s shoulder.

“You have until Sunday lunch to tell me.” Ron nodded and stepped out of the shop.“Maybe next week, you can show Malfoy why you were the Gryffindor keeper.” George added.

With a grim smile, Ron returned to work with a lot to think about. He was too preoccupied with his thoughts on George’s offer to notice a former classmate with a slick black bob who overheard the end of the conversation.

  
  


* * *

It was the middle of the night and Draco was sure Molly and Arthur had gone to sleep. He cast a silencing charm over the stairs as he crept into the kitchen. He opened the window where the old Weasley owl sat on its perch. 

Carefully Draco tied a note to the owl’s leg and whispered to it. “I need you to get this note to Blaise Zabini. Make sure he gets it and don’t bother waiting for a reply. Just fly back home as normal.”

The owl hooted and flew off into the darkness. As silently as he could, Draco went back to his bedroom and tucked in for the night, satisfied his plan had been put into action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for the very sweet comments. The hunt for Draco is well and truly underway!  
> Also thank you Tridogmom for being a patient and encouraging beta. You make me a better writer. <3 <3


	8. Chapter 8

The day after Draco had secretly sent his letter, he had been anxious all day. He paced the perimeters of the Burrow, jumping at every rustle of wind or crunch of leaves. Even Molly noticed he was on edge when he cut himself with a peeler just as she called him to carry some clean laundry outside for her.

The sky was a beautiful pink and ruby hue when he went to round up the hens for the night. Walking into the coop, he spotted a small brown envelope placed where the hens would have laid their eggs.

Realising that the letter he had been expecting had arrived, he breathed a sigh of relief as his fingers smoothed across the paper. Quickly scanning the place to check he was alone, he ripped open the envelope.

_ So happy to hear you’re fine. Take care of yourself wherever you are. I know your father is hunting you down. He questioned me a few weeks ago but I think I was able to misdirect him. _

_ Since you’re caged in some pigsty, I’ll find out what I can about that woman. Expect Hermes to leave you some post in the same place. _

_ B.Z. _

Draco incinerated the letter with his wand and finished his task of putting his girls to sleep. He felt marginally better now that Blaise was out there helping him with one of his dilemmas. Locking up the chicken coop and casting a protective charm around it, he went back to the Burrow feeling more relaxed.

* * *

Pansy accepted the cup of tea from Narcissa as they sat opposite each other in the drawing room. They exchanged short polite formalities as they waited for the third member of their party to arrive. Pansy smiled at Narcissa as she focused on staying calm and poised. The invitation to this meeting was sent to her a few days ago and a part of her worried the wedding would be called off.

Lucius entered the room shortly. Pansy thought he was still rather handsome, which reassured her that Draco would be too in his autumnal years. She stood to greet him.   
  


“My dear, Pansy. You don’t have to get up for me,” he said to her as he leant in to drop a kiss on her cheek.

Lucius placed himself next to Narcissa and Pansy sat up a little taller, taking up as much space as possible for this rather formal meeting.

“Thank you for meeting with us,” Narcissa said.

“Anything for you, Narcissa and Lucius. I think we are rather close,” Pansy suggested.

Lucius nodded at her.

“We are interested to hear more about your encounter at Diagon Alley the other day. Could you tell us in detail what had happened?” he asked.

Pansy had explained briefly in a letter about what she overheard outside the joke shop. But here she was given the opportunity to spare no detail as she recanted her story to her future in-laws.

“Even though it is very unlikely Draco would ever consort with the Weasleys, I believe that family may have come into contact with him.” she concluded.

Lucius and Narcissa nodded along with her and thanked her for the information.

“We also have another question,” Lucius began. “What do you know about the author Rose de Bois?”

Pansy was startled and felt her cheeks heat up at the question.

“I know more about her work, but very little about the author in person,” Pansy answered. “She’s supposedly very secretive and on the day of Draco’s… flight, it was her first ever book signing. She doesn’t do interviews with Witches Weekly or the Daily Prophet. Some of her fans believe she’s Belgian or even Swiss.”

“Do you know anything about her life before her writing career?” asked Narcissa.

Pansy shook her head.

“She said to the fan before me that she was once in a dull desk job, but gave no specifics.”

She noticed the way the couple glanced at each other before Narcissa offered more tea to everyone. Pansy wondered what the connection was with Rose de Bois to warrant it coming up in their conversation about Draco.

Lucius asked, “Would your parents be willing to have dinner with us next week? We have much to discuss.”

Pansy smiled sweetly at him. “I’m sure they would be honoured to.”

Their conversation stayed on lighter topics and Pansy could sense that their meeting was about to come to a close.

“Thank you Mr and Mrs Malfoy for the delightful afternoon,” she said after placing her cup down.

“Before you deprive us of your company, we have something for you,” Lucius said, standing up and taking something out of his robes pocket. 

Lucius placed a small vial in her outstretched hand. It had been several years since Pansy had sat in a potions class, but the clear liquid contained within the cool glass was instantly recognisable. Veritaserum.

“We are having difficulty with Mr Zabini,” explained Lucius. “He’s not being very… cooperative with our search for Draco.”

Pansy swallowed, finally understanding why they invited her round for tea.

“It would be most helpful for  _ our _ family if you could convince him to talk,” Narcissa added as the older woman stood to grasp Pansy’s arm. 

She glanced between stern silver eyes and sapphire blue ones. She beamed brightly at them, hiding her nerves. 

“Leave it to me,” said Pansy reassuringly as she placed the vial securely in her purse. “The things we do for our family.” 

The couple smiled back and saw her out at the door. Pansy held her cheery expression until the gates at the edge of the estate closed behind her. She let out a heavy sigh and Apparated away.

* * *

Hermione didn’t wait to brush off the soot from her hair or clothes when she landed in the Burrow’s fireplace as she rushed towards the kitchen. She arrived in a crowded room of worried Weasleys. Ron, George and Harry were there. Arthur was trying to soothe Molly as she wept into a bright handkerchief.

“Is she at St Mungo’s?” she asked Harry, noting how pale he looked.

“They sent Ginny straight there after her fall,” he replied.

“How the hell did someone manage to throw a hex at her during the middle of a match without being caught?” George asked.

“Robards has a team of Aurors scouring the pitch now trying to find the bastard, but St Mungo’s won’t let any of us stay there until she’s out of the operating theatre,” added Ron.

Hermione chewed her lip nervously, her eyes scanned the room until it landed on the tall blond standing by the doorway. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach. In her panic, she almost forgot that he was living here.

“We may be waiting for a while, so I’ll put the kettle on,” she suggested. She squeezed past everyone as they too started to make their way into the living room.

She began to fill the kettle with water when the cupboard opened and mugs clanked against each other. Turning around, she blinked twice as Draco laid out fresh mugs on a tray. Her throat tightened as she focused her attention on the kettle, the water slowly filling it to the top. 

“This is my fault,” Draco said, breaking the silence between them.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she argued. “Quidditch fans do all sorts of crazy things.” She started the kettle and reached for the teapot at the same time as Draco did.

They both flinched and Hermione grabbed the pot. Draco reached for her shoulders, giving her no option but to stare into his hardened steel eyes.

“They don’t send people suffering from normal hexes to St Mungo’s. Whoever that was, they are more than just an aggressive Quidditch fan. I think...” He paused to swallow. “They’re sending me a message, that they’re onto me.”

“But that doesn’t make sense, if your family is trying to send you a message, why would they attack Ginny?” she argued. 

“I don’t know why, maybe they know she’s somehow linked to my disappearance,” Draco contemplated. Hermione’s mouth fell in disbelief, wanting to argue that it can’t be possible, but Draco beat her to it.

“Granger, you and I know they are capable of doing something like that to anyone.” His eyes gazed down at her right arm, the one inflicted with a horrible scar. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “For all of this and what my family did to you. My father isn’t exactly like Aunt Bella but he’s capable of being just as terrible.”

Hermione fought back the burning sensation in her eyes. Blinking furiously and turning away so that he couldn’t see her face.

“We will do whatever we can to keep you safe.” she said, whilst busying herself by spooning tea leaves into the teapot.

“Maybe I should leave. They probably know I’m here.”

“Don’t be silly,” Hermione argued. 

“You’re not listening to me, Granger. My father will hunt me down—”

“They can’t possibly know. Kingsley sent you here because he knew the least likely people who would help you are the Weasleys. Your family would have to think you’re a changed man in order to believe you are under their roof.”

Draco cocked an eyebrow at her and Hermione wished she could take those last words back. Why was it so hard for her to admit that the Draco Malfoy before her, the one she has gotten to interact with these past few weeks, wasn’t the same teenager at school?

“What I mean is, you could have used your own personal wealth, connections and intelligence to hide from your family. Yet here you are. You trusted that we would keep your location safe. I can’t speak for the rest of the Weasley family but I wouldn’t compromise your safety. So please,” Hermione asked. “Please stay.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her but said nothing more, moving away from her to reach for milk and sugar.

“Before you go,” he pulled a small envelope from his back pocket and placed it on the counter. “Please, can you pass this on.”

Hermione tucked it away as the kettle began to whistle. They hurriedly finished making tea and carried everything wordlessly to the living room. 

* * *

It was way past midnight by the time Hermione got home. She was exhausted from sitting around waiting and then rushing to the hospital. When they arrived, Ginny was thoroughly sedated from sleeping draughts. Molly was besides herself and only with a lot of persuasion did the mother return to the Burrow. Despite the long day Hermione was wide awake in her living room, staring at the small letter that she had placed on the coffee table. Conflicted between the feelings of fear to open the letter and anxiousness to know it’s contents. Her pen name was written neatly in cursive script. Taking a deep breath, she picked it and ripped it open to read.

_ Dear Rose, _

_ Your letter filled me with such hope. To feel your care in your words, to smell the edges of the paper where your perfumed wrist had smudged across. _

_ You ask about my future plans once I’m no longer under Aurors’ protection. During the war, I never thought I would live to see adulthood. But since then, I have given it some thought and fancy myself as  _ _ a potioner’s apprentice _ _. I would enjoy creating potions for St Mungo’s and for those who need it. In whatever spare time I can, I would travel, see the sights and meet people of different cultures and backgrounds. I want to be with someone special and perhaps we could raise our children. They would know they are safe, loved and they can be friends with anyone they want. _

_ Those are my dreams but I’d like to know more about you. I’m sure there are many people who ask how you started your career as an author and why did you start. But is there anything else in the world that you want to do? _

_ Hermione mentioned you were at Hogwarts  _ _ in Ravenclaw _ _ a few years before us. Did you enjoy your time at school?  _

_ Forgive me if it comes across as forward or mad, or a mix of both but I am incredibly taken with you. You told me when we met that  _ _ love is indiscriminate _ _. Perhaps I will start to come round to your point of view. _

_ Even in the trapped position that I am in now, I think of you all the time. I envision your face beaming with a warm radiance when you smile. I think of your dulcet voice which reads to me.  _

_ I’m thankful for your friend Hermione who has allowed us to connect, no matter how slow this process may be. Please do not tell her I have said this about her, because we were not on good terms before. She is too proud as it is now, I wouldn’t want her to get any ideas. _

_ I look forward to your next letter. I hope one day, we can speak in person and once you have gotten to know me better. The opportunity will arise for me to prove I am the man for you. _

_ Yours forever and a day, _

_ Draco Malfoy _

  
  


Hermione’s hands shook as she placed the letter down. Her head reeled with the information, with the new perspective of the blond she couldn’t stop thinking about. Lying down on the sofa, she curled up into a ball and let out a shaky sigh. She wondered how she allowed herself to make such a big mistake like falling in love.

  
  



	9. Chapter 9

It had been almost two weeks since Ginny’s admission to hospital. Being so protective of his little sister and worried for his best friend, Ron had pushed George’s offer to the back of his mind until now.

If anything, the past two weeks had made him realise that while it was great to work with Harry, most of the time he worked with other Aurors. Those hours were dull and not as interesting. The appeal of working at the joke shop grew more and more during long shifts with colleagues who all took their jobs so seriously. 

Therefore on his lunch break, he made a special trip to Diagon Alley. The joke shop had a few customers and Ron found George trying to coax Pygmy Puffs into a large cage. When his brother turned towards him, he gave a sigh of relief.

“Give me a hand will you,” George said as the little beasts wriggled out of his grip. “These are best sellers but never easy to move from one cage to another.”

Ron caught one about to make a dashing leap out of the box and threw it into the cage. Side by side, they managed to get all the pink, purple and golden beasts securely in their new temporary home.

George was the first to speak. “About time you came. Was beginning to think you didn’t want to be my business partner.”

“Yes about that. As your new business partner, I will get fifty percent of the business.” Ron laid out his offer.

George only laughed at him, which irritated Ron.

“No way. If you join, you get ten percent for the first year and after that we both get a third of the business each.”

“But that’s not fair!” Ron argued. How did he expect George to ever play fair? Especially when he and Fred used to find all sorts of ways to torment him with their silly pranks. His brother put a hand on his shoulder, with a bright smile on his face.

“Look you get a small percentage to start, just to see how it goes. If you don’t kill this business, then you get an equal share in it.”

Ron was still baffled. He didn’t have Hermione’s brains but even he could do _some_ calculations.

“How is that equal when you get to keep two thirds of the business? Even I can work that one out.” 

“The other third belongs to our other brother. Well… mum and dad for now.” George’s demeanour slumped and he busied his hands with tidying up boxes of Dungbombs and U-No-Poos.

The heavy realisation hit Ron. Fred. This was another way George reminded himself that Fred was no longer here. Another way for George to not find a replacement for his twin. What kind of brother was Ron to argue for more share of a business that George _and Fred_ built together?

“Sure, a third each then. My notice period at the Ministry is a month.”

George straightened up and wrapped his arm around him, leading them to the tills. 

“I’m sure there’s a quill and spare parchment under the tills for your resignation letter. Might as well get it done now.”

Ron gave a small grin, feeling much better already.

* * *

  
  


Pansy walked carefully across the cobbled pavement in her shiny black heels, her mind racing through every eventuality of what she wanted to happen tonight. She finally reached a white house with black railings and a large brass knocker on it’s gleaming black door, a serpent twisted and twined into the handle. With a deep breath, she knocked the knocker. 

The door cracked open, piercing blue eyes scanned her immaculate camel trench coat with a hot intensity. Blaise threw open the door, smirking at her in his pajama bottoms, his defined torso bare for her to admire.

“What a delightful surprise visit,” he greeted her with a smirk.

“Pour me a drink,” Pansy ordered as she stepped into Blaise's house. 

She shrugged off her coat and draped it across the banister as she sauntered upstairs to his bedroom. She glanced back to see Blaise give her an appreciative stare. Pansy knew the sheer black basque, matching thong and stockings accentuated her curves. Flaunting her sexual power in front of Blaise made her feel desirable. Powerful. 

Climbing the staircase slowly to allow Blaise take in the full view, every step made the lace of her thong rub against her pussy deliciously.

She didn’t need directions to the now familiar master bedroom; down the corridor on the right. Carefully draping herself across Blaise’s satin sheets, she didn’t wait long before the handsome man came to her side. Drinks in hand.

“I could have been with a _guest_ tonight,” Blaise insinuated as he plopped a glass of vodka on the rocks next to her.

“You do now.” She downed the drink. The liquor warmed it’s way down her throat to her belly. It steadied her. 

“Pour me another,” she demanded as she handed the empty glass back. 

Her lover bowed mockingly and left his glass on the bedside table before leaving the room with her order. Without a moment to lose, Pansy pulled out the small vial of Veritaserum hidden in her bra and dropped the entire contents into his glass. She managed to put the stopper back on and vanish the evidence with her wand before Blaise returned with another fresh glass of vodka.

“Your majesty,” he offered. 

Pansy summoned her most seductive smile as she took up her drink. 

“Cheers,” she toasted. 

Under her lashes, she observed Blaise pick up his own drink and knock it all back. Exactly what she needed him to do. 

Eagerly, she grabbed his hand and pulled him into bed. Straddling him whilst his hands roamed over the curves of her ass and over the dip of her accentuated waist. 

His lips immediately latched onto her neck, kissing, licking and nibbling a sensitive spot behind her ear. Pansy sighed into it, allowing herself to somewhat enjoy the moment. Blaise knew his way around her body. He was particularly useful at making her forget her worries and without all the attachment. Pansy liked their detached arrangement very much. But she needed to stay alert and not lose control. Her fingers wrapped around her wand and silently cast ribbons around Blaise’s wrists. Pulling his arms up above his head. 

“Are we playing those games tonight?” Blaise asked with an eager grin. He learnt back against the headboard to surrender into her. His cock pressed up against Pansy’s heated pussy. 

“Yes. Tonight you will do as I say,” Pansy commanded. 

She scooted down to tug his pyjamas off him, freeing his hard erection from the straining fabric.

“You love my cock don’t you?” Blaise asked. 

Pansy wasn’t unfamiliar with his dirty talk, but she wondered if the truth serum was making him more vocal. 

“Who’s pussy do you love fucking?” she asked.

“Yours. Cho Chang’s a close second but she was too tight,” he said instantly. 

Her chest swelled with self satisfaction. At both the compliment and the truth of his answer. The Veritaserum was working.

“I bet you do.”

Keenly she ran the broad part of her tongue from the base of his cock all the way to the tip. It leapt into her parted lips as Blaise swore. She sucked hard as his cock hit the back of her throat, savouring his sweet and salty taste.

“Some days I just want to lock you up in this room and pound you until you forget your own name,” Blaise confessed.

Pansy could see the bulges in his veins across his neck as he strained against his bonds. Her lips left his cock with a resounding pop.

“What else do you want from me?” she asked, her hands pumped his shaft without breaking a beat.

“I want you to finger my ass while you choke on my cock,” he panted.

Pansy didn’t miss a beat at his confession. It’s not a kink he has expressed before. A small surprise, but it encouraged her to continue her interrogation.

“What did you last say to Draco before he disappeared?” Pansy finally asked.

Blaise’s expression turned cold as he threw her an icy stare. “I told him to disappear and hide.” he said through gritted teeth.

Her stomach twisted as she focused on continuing her ministrations. She swallowed hard. It was a stab in the back.

“Did he tell you where he would go?” 

“No,” Blaise barked. His breathing was heavy not just from arousal. “I told him to keep it to himself.” 

Pansy increased the pace of her movement, squeezing the tip of his cock when she reached it. It was hot and even stiffer than before. Her body was on high alert, not sure whether she should flee or stay and impossibly more aroused. But she held her ground. 

“Did he talk about anything else?” she asked. She needed something, anything from Blaise by the end of the night. 

“He Floo-ed me to talk about that author whose porn you like to read, you filthy bitch.” He spat his words at her, making a pool of moisture flood her thong. 

Pansy moved up his body, sliding her thong off before impaling herself on him. Her wetness allowed his cock to sink deeply into her smoothly. 

They groaned together at the contact and Pansy began to move herself at a slow steady pace while Blaise flared at her. 

“I can’t believe you’re doing this,” he groaned. 

Pansy ignored the stabbing pain in her chest his words had caused. She had grand dreams and not even he could stop her.

“What did he say to you about this slut?”

“Not much, but he seemed rather smitten.” 

The pain in her chest grew, as did the tightening of her core. 

“Why would you tell him to run away?”

“Because he’s not meant for you, it’s as obvious as the sight of your nose,” Blaise admitted. His eyes pierced through her as they stared each other down.

She didn’t want to hear him talk anymore. The pain had spread from her chest up to her face, threatening to make her cry. 

Using her wand again, she bound his mouth shut with a conjured ribbon. Pushing all her focus down into her hips and thighs. Pansy slammed herself harder and faster onto Blaise’s cock. Every time his cock hit her in the right spot, it gave her the permission to let out her screams. Her anger gradually twisted into a familiar knot in her core until it snapped into a blinding orgasm. 

Blaise wordlessly grunted into her as he followed quickly behind, jutting his hips into her quivering body. 

They laid still for a moment that felt like a lifetime, eventually she felt Blaise shift beneath her. His bound arms came down and wrapped around her in a tight embrace as Pansy shuddered into his shoulder. Pleasure rippled in a synchronised harmony with pain as tears streamed freely down her cheeks and onto his smooth dark skin. 

“Believe me when I say this,” he whispered into her ear like a caress. “You will never have my trust again.”

Her heart cracked and her body shuddered again into a muffled cry. How could the betrayal from the one man she thought she could trust in all her scheming and conniving be so devastating? 


	10. Chapter 10

A low rumbling sound made the thrumming in Ginny’s head worse. Her chest was squeezed, compressed, and her fingers felt trapped in a case. Shifting her head on the pillow, she cracked open her eyes a sliver to see stark white ceilings and an unfamiliar bed. A hospital bed to be exact. A soreness seeped through every vertebrae of her spine. Ginny groaned through the dull pain.

“Ginny! You’re finally awake,” Hermione exclaimed in surprise, her brown curls tickled Ginny’s face, making her cough. Making her realise how parched she was.

“Water,” she asked. 

“Of course, let me help you.”

Hermione poured a glass of water from the jug and placed a glass straw into it before helping Ginny. It was a cool relief and Ginny had a second glass before she could have any normal conversation. By this point, the healer arrived in her hospital ward.

“What happened to me?” she questioned the healer. 

The healer explained how she was struck by a hex from an anonymous member of the audience, which had propelled her with such velocity into the ground she sustained multiple injuries. Broken bones and something about the lung. The healer stated that she was lucky to be alive because of magic. However she still needed to stay in the hospital for a few more days to monitor any other side effects from the hex

Hermione sat beside her in an armchair, anxiously writing notes and asking further questions. Ginny was grateful her friend was, because her mind was so foggy she didn’t quite understand everything that was said to her.

Eventually the healer left, leaving just Hermione and Ginny alone. 

“I’m so glad you are awake now,” Hermione said in relief. “Your mother has been here every day for three days and Harry-”

Harry. The mention of his name made Ginny’s stomach twist with nausea.

“-he has slept here every night and barely left your side.” 

“Hermione, could you do me a favour?” she asked. A thought came to her head and she knew that Harry needed to know straight away.

“Anything, are you hungry?”

“Yes but what I want to ask is if you can ask Harry to come here please?”

“He’ll be here after his shift.” Hermione explained.

“Could you ask him to come now, please?” Ginny asked, what she needed to say to Harry couldn’t wait any longer.

Hermione frowned at her before agreeing and left to contact Harry. Ginny waited, staring up at the ceiling, trying to rehearse what she wanted to say to her boyfriend, the man she had loved since she was ten. They went through so much together, pining for him when he barely knew her. In their teens when they dated briefly at Hogwarts, being separated during the war. Then what they were now. Ginny could see the road ahead of them with perfect clarity. 

It wasn’t long before the doors to her ward opened and Harry sprinted over to her side. She took in his rumpled, messy hair, his dazzling green eyes with dark circles under them and his mouth drawn thinly into a worried expression. Ginny took it all in, as he placed his warm scarred hand against her cheek.

Hermione followed him and Ginny asked if she could give the two of them a few minutes. Her friend left willingly, leaving the two of them alone.

“I’m so glad you’re ok,” Harry said before dropping a kiss on her lips. It was soft and tender. Tears began to prickle the back of her eyes.

“I am too,” Ginny whispered, taking a deep breath before continuing. “But Harry, we can’t go on like this anymore.” 

“Of course. Once the healers have checked your progress, you’ll be out of the hospital soon.” he reassured her.

Ginny shook her head, tears streaming down her face. The ache in her chest intensified as if she was being crushed.

“You know what I mean,” she said, watching his face drop in despair. “I can’t be in this relationship with you any longer.”

“You don’t mean that,” Harry said. His eyes frantic as he looked at her. “But I love you, Ginny. Don’t you love me anymore?”

“I do, but-” she chokes out. More tears streamed down her face. “I don’t want to continue living without ever trying to have a family. It’s not fair to me or you.”

Through bleary eyes, she watched Harry let out a heaving sob. His body collapsed onto the hospital bed next to her. 

“Please don’t do this,” he begged. “I can’t lose you. You’re all I have. Please.” 

“I’m sorry,” Ginny cried. “But this is for the best.” 

Harry hung his head into the book of her shoulder. His hair pressed against her damp cheeks as his scent filled her nose. Reminding her of the things she would miss about him on lonely nights.

Eventually the healer came in and asked Harry to leave while they gave her an examination. Leaving Ginny to process the consequences of her actions in hospital alone.

* * *

Hermione took brisk steps towards the Burrow as she agreed to help Molly deliver some homemade soup to Ginny in hospital. Despite the hospital kitchens being rather reasonable, Molly insisted on cooking for her daughter. Using this as an excuse to see Draco inconspicuously, she offered to help deliver food to St. Mungo’s. She needed to see if he had any response to the letter she wrote him. 

Their letters were now a daily occurrence, even though she knew she should stop the pretense. But everytime she thought each letter was her last, Draco would give her this smile that’s devoid of malice or sarcasm and all joy. Her heart would race and all she wanted was for him to never stop smiling at her like that.

Shaking her head, she thought about what had just occurred in the hospital and to process what Harry had told her in the corridor. She couldn’t believe Ginny decided this moment was the time to break up with the love of her life. A part of her knew that it was a possibility, given how much Ginny wanted children and Harry obviously didn’t. She didn’t predict it was while Ginny was lying in a hospital bed.

Butterflies fluttered in her stomach. Between working, staying in St Mungo’s, writing back to Draco and trying to write her new novel, she barely had time to eat or sleep and in this case, use the bathroom. The minute she walked into the house, Hermione shouted her greetings before sprinting upstairs. Her foot had just hit the landing when she collided at full speed with something firm and warm. She almost lost her balance and she could feel herself begin to fall were it not for a strong arm that wrapped around her and yanked her upright. 

Hermione gasped as she stared open mouthed into mesmerising silver eyes of Draco Malfoy’s. She felt so intimately close to him, his clean scent filled her nose and felt the dampness of his chest against hers. If she so much as tilted her chin a little and lifted herself onto tiptoes, she could almost kiss those soft lips that were pulled into a naughty smirk. Slowly he stepped back, the distance between them left her feeling slightly empty.

“No need to rush, I’m not going anywhere.” he commented. 

Hermione could feel her cheeks redden as her gaze drifted down the toned stomach that, for a moment, was pressed up against her and to the towel hung too low on his hips. Her eyes drifted to the Dark Mark brandished on his forearm, reminding her that she was openly objectifying the man.

“Sorry, I need the bathroom,” she mumbled her apology and skirted around him into the bathroom. Locking the door quickly, she sat on the toilet with her head in her hands completely mortified. 

Gratefully she didn’t bump into him on her way out of the bathroom and in the kitchen as she collected Molly’s food for Ginny. Hermione didn’t want to be a coward, but she really didn’t want to spend more time with Draco. In case anything else happened.

As Hermione headed back to St Mungo’s laden down with food, she couldn’t stop thinking about the problem which needed solving. She had already found the best solution for it, even though it was humiliating and striped her of any self-dignity. However she couldn’t see any other way of stopping herself from falling in love with Draco Malfoy and him with her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel bad for leaving Harry and Ginny. I’m sorry!  
> If you want to rant at me for doing this to them, I can be found on Tumblr.


End file.
